Truth and Consequences, page 13
Before going upstairs, Craig went out to the sunporch and called his mother.
She sounded exhausted, yet relieved, because Big Gary was improving more quickly now. And the whole family would be so happy to see Craig on Friday.
She said they were now staying at a furnished mobile home at the trailer park. A local Realtor said they could use it as long as needed. Rita was still upset and talking as if she didn’t want to go back to the farm, but she would come around. Lilly was still moody and dejected, not herself at all. “I’ll be very glad when you’re here. Maybe she’ll listen to you.”
She added, “But people here have been wonderful. Volunteers are helping to clean up the debris. Rita will snap out of it. This is a good place to live. The best in the country.”
He smiled tiredly at that remark. It was so typical of his mother, who’d never really lived anywhere else, but was certain that South Dakota was the most blessed place on earth.
He told her he was anxious to see them all soon and that he loved them all. As he hung up, it struck him that Maeve and his mother were almost polar opposites. Maeve had been protected most of her life, and the disaster that had torn apart her world had nearly destroyed her.
But his mother, Shirley, had faced adversity repeatedly through her life, and she always refused to think of giving up, no matter how high the odds were stacked against her.
And Penny, he realized, was more like his mother than her own. She could stand on her own two feet; she had done it for years.
No more than a child, she’d left home, and by the time she was sixteen she could navigate cities like Manhattan, London, Paris, Rome and Milan.
This had amazed him when he’d first met her, and it amazed him still. At sixteen he’d been no farther from Vermillion than a family trip to see the Black Hills and Mount Rushmore. The biggest city he’d ever seen was Omaha, which had boggled his mind the first time he went—the buildings, the bustling and the hugeness of the place.
He sighed and headed for the stairs.
IN THE GUEST ROOM, HE STRIPPED down to his Jockey shorts and crawled into bed. He was tired to his marrow, but he knew that sleep would not come easily.
The feel of the bed reminded him of Penny, the warmth of her, the exciting smoothness of her shoulders, bare except for the narrow satin straps of her nightgown. The exotic scent of her perfume teasing his nostrils. The springs softly squeaking as he turned to face her, and the fragrance and silky spill of her hair against his hand when he touched her face….
The sensual fullness of her lips when he kissed her, and the taste of her, the lazy, lovely play of her tongue against his. The feeling of her hands stroking his shoulders, his biceps, the muscles of his back. And then, oh then…
No. No. No. Don’t think of that. You’ll drive yourself insane.
He got up, took a quick cold shower and toweled himself dry. He slipped back into his slacks and padded downstairs, barefoot and bare-chested. He made his way silently into the kitchen, knowing that Gerty had put the Chenin Blanc back into the refrigerator.
He poured himself a full glass, then went to the sunporch and sat, staring at the moon over the black silhouettes of the treetops. This was where he’d kissed Penny for the first time—and knew his life was forever altered.
CHAPTER TWELVE
A LIGHT WENT ON IN THE KITCHEN. Craig stood and went to the slider door, his half-empty wineglass in his hand. He saw Gerty taking a carton of milk from the refrigerator. He knocked on the door, startling her.
Opening the slider, he stepped into the kitchen. “Hi, Gerty. I raided your Chenin Blanc.”
“It’s not mine,” Gerty said. “It’s Maeve’s and she’d opened it for you. Drink up. I understand. Me? My stomach says warm milk.”
“It’s hard on you, isn’t it?” he said. “Seeing her this way.”
“I have some harsh words in my head for that Ritchie woman,” Gerty muttered, her face stony. “Don’t ask me to say them.”
“It’s a deal. I’ve got harsh words of my own.”
Gerty filled a mug with milk and put it in the microwave. She shook her head in disgust. “Poor Maeve. She’s a very innocent woman. Or was.”
Craig leaned one shoulder against the kitchen wall. “Tell me. Why do you call her Maeve and him Mr. Branch?”
“She insisted I call her Maeve. He preferred to be called Mr. Branch. Humph! He was so vain. I suppose he still is. That he’s sitting in some high-price hotel, drinking his cognac. God willing, someday he’ll sit in a prison cell. But it will punish Maeve more than him.”
“And punish his sons and daughter,” Craig said moodily.
“Come,” she said. “Sit with me. We’ll talk.”
She took her mug from the microwave and shuffled to the breakfast nook. She wore a large, pink robe and fuzzy pink slippers made to look like rabbits, with little black button eyes, embroidered whiskers and stand-up pink ears. Almost smiling, he sat down across from her.
But she didn’t smile. “You’re very worried about Penny, too?”
“Yeah,” he admitted. “I worry about all of them.”
“But mostly Penny,” she said, narrowing with a shrewd look. “You miss her.”
He took a swig of wine. “I miss her. But I don’t understand her any longer.”
“None of us do,” Gerty stated. “Not even Maeve. Maeve said Penny changed one summer. About fourteen, fifteen years ago. She had a lot of assignments in France and Italy. When she came home, she was—what’s the word?—subdued. She didn’t seem like her old self.
“Then she went to the Caribbean for a shoot. She came back, Maeve said, even more pale and quiet. Gradually she got better. But she didn’t seem the same. Not until she met you.”
“Me?” Craig said in surprise.
“‘Penny came back to herself,’ Maeve said. Meeting you was like magic medicine for her. Maeve and I knew right away she was in love. You remember your first date? You went to that park she likes so much.”
“I remember,” he said in a masterpiece of understatement.
“Maeve and I were sitting right here, having hot chocolate when she came in that night, so happy, her face shining. You went where else? Besides the park?”
His lip twitched in a melancholy smile. “The zoo and the aquarium. I thought that I could walk. But her? Wow.”
He paused, remembering. “We rode on one of the antique trolleys. I think it was the one called Petunia.”
“She always liked those trolleys.”
“We ended up splitting a cheeseburger and potato chips at a bar called Adair’s. When I walked in I didn’t know it was famous. When I walked out I knew why it was famous.”
He remembered the world-class cheeseburger, the great music, the graffiti, the saloon rules posted on the wall, beginning with Dance With the One Who Bring You or No Damn Dancing.
There were photos tacked up everywhere, mostly of musicians, but Penny pointed to a shadowy corner and said her brothers’ pictures were there, that when they raced in Dallas, they always brought their teammates here.
She seemed proud of that, her brothers’ photos being hung in Adair’s. And though Craig drank little, he and Penny each had a bottle of Coors Light to salute the official beer of NASCAR.
There was the click of pool balls and the ping of slot machines and Hank Williams’s voice coming out of the jukebox. Penny and he sat at a rickety table in the back, covered with patched vinyl. “Isn’t your picture up here?” he asked.
She shook her head. “I fly under the radar when I’m home. People hardly ever recognize me—little makeup, no false eyelashes, no designer clothes. I’m just another Texas blonde, kind of a tomboy one.”
He didn’t agree with the last statement. She might try to look like a tomboy, but she was all woman, and despite deprecating her looks, she was lovely. Lovely and down-to-earth.
“You don’t sound like you’re crazy about modeling,” he said.
“It was exciting at first,” she said. “But it gets old. And it’s all about appearance, not substance. Sawyer’s supersmart and the twins have to do difficult things, drive like superheroes. Concentrate like crazy, and have impossibly fast reflexes. Have bodily strength and mental discipline. I have to put inch-deep makeup on my face and try to look natural. Not quite the same league as my brothers.”
He didn’t know much about modeling, but he knew it involved more than that. And he didn’t want to relinquish her yet, so he cajoled her into going to a movie. But then she had to go home; she had a shoot in the morning for a major department store.
When he kissed her good-night on the porch, it was hellishly difficult to stop kissing her. Against her lips, he asked, “When can I see you again?”
She stayed so close, he felt her breath on his mouth. “Whenever you want,” she whispered.
“Tomorrow night?”
“I’d love to.”
His heart had knocked so hard, he thought it might break through his chest. He hadn’t been so happy in years. Maybe he’d never been so happy.
Now, Gerty said, “Ahh, you look very nostalgic.”
“I guess I’m being very nostalgic,” he admitted.
“That night when she came home, she looked happier than I’d ever seen her.”
She paused, her eyes crinkling at the edges. “And the next thing she said was, ‘Gerty, he said your picnic lunch was better than the food at Adair’s.’ I said I was deeply honored. Then her face got all serious. And she said, ‘Gerty, will you teach me to cook? Please?’ I looked at Maeve, and Maeve looked at me, and we knew. She already loved you. Maeve was afraid it would never happen, her falling in love.”
“Now she’s fallen out,” Craig said.
“Liebe wird einen Weg finden,” Gerty said. “Love will make its way.”
He shrugged. But, something Gerty had said nagged him. “What Maeve told you,” he said. “About Penny changing? Can you tell me more?”
She took a thoughtful sip of her milk. “Maeve said she came back weak and without her old high spirits. Gradually she got better, but never quite the same as she was. Till you. And then it was like she really came home again. At last.”
Craig frowned. “So something happened when she was about seventeen?”
Gerty looked pensive. “So it seems. But what is a mystery. Nobody could get her to talk about it. Maeve’s a romantic. She thinks maybe an unhappy love affair. Oh, I shouldn’t say such a thing.”
“It’s all right,” he said, frowning harder. A vague explanation was better than none. She was a beautiful woman, and men must have pursued her in howling packs.
He’d fallen in love when he was nineteen with the most vivacious and brightest girl on campus, Susan Strauss. He asked to marry him his junior year, and she said yes. But the autumn after they’d graduated, she’d given back the ring. He was already married, she accused. To his family, to his precious farm, to his work. She felt neglected and scornful.
He’d thought she’d torn a piece out of his heart and that he’d never feel whole again. So he’d avoided getting deeply involved with anyone again—until Penny. Oh, there had been plenty of women, he couldn’t deny that. But he never intended to fall headlong in love again. Susan Strauss had taught him well.
But he didn’t speak of himself. He said, “When my sister was sixteen, she’d spend hours practicing signing the name she wanted most. Mrs. Brad Pitt. Mrs. William Bradley Pitt. Dena Pitt. Dena Lockhart Pitt. Dena Lee Pitt. We teased her until she’d cry. I still can’t mention his name in front of her. She threatens death.”
Gerty nodded wisely. “At that age, such emotions.”
I’m not doing so great at this age, he thought gloomily. He remembered his niece’s angst about the boys killed in the car accident, how deeply it had affected her. Gerty was right: at that age, such emotions. But he wasn’t a teenager, and he shouldn’t think like one.
Gerty patted his hand. “Be patient with Penny. She doesn’t come from an average family, you know. I’m going back to bed now. Take it easy on the Chenin Blanc.”
PENNY AWOKE WITH A GROAN. Another full day with Dink Dinklage and his hypersexual lingerie. Another day away from Dallas and her mother. And Craig.
She’d unplugged the hotel phone last night, and muted her cell phone. Now she sat up groggily and turned it on. Oh, rats, she thought, her heart plummeting. Sixteen calls. Almost all from unknown callers. Reporters? News services? Busybodies?
Bart had called only ten minutes ago. She squinted at the clock. It was six-fifteen. She set her jaw in determination and phoned him back.
He answered almost immediately. “Penn? I just tried calling you.”
“I saw. I just woke up. Bart, I had a lot of calls last night. Did you?”
“What do you mean by ‘a lot?’” he asked, exasperation in his voice.
“Sixteen, counting yours.”
He gave a bitter snort of laughter. “I had sixty-three. Will had sixty-one. All hell’s about to break loose.”
She raked her hand through her hair. “Oh, Bart, what are we going to do?”
“Will and I spent half the night with our reps from P.R.”
“Anita and Kylie?” she asked. Both women worked for MMG, Motor Media Group, and she knew them well.
“Sandra was there, too,” he said.
Sandra Jacobs owned MMG. Penny knew Sandra was already working overtime to find new sponsors for the twins, and this situation wasn’t helping.
“So what did they say?” Penny asked, cradling her forehead in her palm.
“Sandra says the first twenty-four hours after a crisis breaks—and it hasn’t broken yet—that time’s the most important.” He paused for emphasis. “It’s important that we don’t be hostile to the media—”
“Even though they’re already hounding us?” Penny put in, teeth clenched.
“—even though they’re already hounding us,” he confirmed. “Here’s why. The respectable media won’t be very interested. This is gossip. Reading about it is like slowing in traffic to look at a bad accident.”
“Wait,” she said, puzzled, “you’re saying—?”
“I’m telling you what Sandra said. The eagles in the media business are the network broadcasters and papers like the New York Times. The eagles may mention us, but they won’t dive-bomb us. What’s going to happen is we’ll be swarmed by gnats—tabloids, bloggers, all the gossip paparazzi.”
“Couldn’t enough gnat bites kill you?” Penny asked.
“Stonewall everybody with a ‘No comment’ and ‘Please respect our family’s privacy in this difficult time.’ We should get a representative to handle all that. But Sandra suggests some of us have a short press conference. We need to decide who’ll speak for us.”
Penny thought fast. “It’s got to be you and Will. On one level, you’ve got the most at stake. The gossip hounds will come after you in packs. You’ve also got experience handling the public and the media. NASCAR gave you that. Mom can’t handle such stuff. Sawyer won’t. I’d get too emotional.”
“Well, we can’t get emotional. We can’t be angry or arrogant or self-righteous. We have to be polite and reasonable. And stick to our script. I’ll give you more detail tonight. What do you have there, two more days?”
“A day and a half,” she said glumly.
“Gerty called early this morning,” Bart said. “Craig stayed there last night. He’s been very good to Mom, she says. He’s a stand-up guy, Penn.”
“Please don’t say things like that,” Penny begged. “Isn’t there enough to think about without dragging my marriage into it?”
“Sorry, I just thought you’d like to know he was there for Mom.”
Which is remarkable, when he’s got so much going on with his own family, she thought, blinking fast to keep back tears.
“I’m sorry, too.” She sighed. “I didn’t mean to snap at you.”
“It’s okay,” he said. “Love you.”
“Love you back,” she replied.
As soon as Bart hung up, she immediately dialed Selma, her agent.
It took Selma eighteen rings to answer. “Penny?” she growled, “It’s dawn. What do you want? At my age I need my beauty sleep. About twenty hours of it.”
“A little problem’s come up about my family.”
“What?” Selma screeched. “Another one?”
“If reporters call, if anybody wants a statement, you have no comment. Okay?”
“Good grief,” Selma exclaimed in disgust. “What now?”
Penny told her about Alyssa Ritchie as briefly as she could, her chin starting to tremble.
“Is your voice shaking?” Selma scolded. “Don’t you dare. Don’t you dare let it shake. You walk tall, baby. You face this trouble like Scarlett O’Hara walking in wearing that scandalous red dress. She is your role model, kid.”
“Sure thing,” Penny said as steadily as she could. Tomorrow is another day.
Two hours later she was lying under the lights in a lascivious position, wearing a black negligee, with Dink standing over her, straddling her, his lens aimed at her cleavage.
Tomorrow is another day, she told herself.
Another day. Another day.
AS SOON AS BART SAID HIS goodbyes to Penny, he phoned Craig and gave him the outline of their P.R. strategy. Craig, just awakened, snapped to full alertness.
“Makes sense,” Craig said, fingering the bristle on his jaw. “I barked at one guy. Won’t do it again. Nobody’ll get out of this unhurt, but the main focus will be on you and Will.”
Bart sighed harshly. “I’m afraid you’re right. The NASCAR angle is going to excite these hyenas. Fame’s a two-edged sword. But I hope it’ll let us take the main hit from the media. Will and I need to be as professional as possible. Not only for the family’s sake, but for NASCAR’S. And our fans and owners and secondary sponsors.”
“Good attitude,” Craig said. The twins had always specialized in being loveable and boyish rogues. But NASCAR had trained them to groom their public image, and it had taught them well. He thought, They’re turning into serious men. And diplomats, as well.
She sounded exhausted, yet relieved, because Big Gary was improving more quickly now. And the whole family would be so happy to see Craig on Friday.
She said they were now staying at a furnished mobile home at the trailer park. A local Realtor said they could use it as long as needed. Rita was still upset and talking as if she didn’t want to go back to the farm, but she would come around. Lilly was still moody and dejected, not herself at all. “I’ll be very glad when you’re here. Maybe she’ll listen to you.”
She added, “But people here have been wonderful. Volunteers are helping to clean up the debris. Rita will snap out of it. This is a good place to live. The best in the country.”
He smiled tiredly at that remark. It was so typical of his mother, who’d never really lived anywhere else, but was certain that South Dakota was the most blessed place on earth.
He told her he was anxious to see them all soon and that he loved them all. As he hung up, it struck him that Maeve and his mother were almost polar opposites. Maeve had been protected most of her life, and the disaster that had torn apart her world had nearly destroyed her.
But his mother, Shirley, had faced adversity repeatedly through her life, and she always refused to think of giving up, no matter how high the odds were stacked against her.
And Penny, he realized, was more like his mother than her own. She could stand on her own two feet; she had done it for years.
No more than a child, she’d left home, and by the time she was sixteen she could navigate cities like Manhattan, London, Paris, Rome and Milan.
This had amazed him when he’d first met her, and it amazed him still. At sixteen he’d been no farther from Vermillion than a family trip to see the Black Hills and Mount Rushmore. The biggest city he’d ever seen was Omaha, which had boggled his mind the first time he went—the buildings, the bustling and the hugeness of the place.
He sighed and headed for the stairs.
IN THE GUEST ROOM, HE STRIPPED down to his Jockey shorts and crawled into bed. He was tired to his marrow, but he knew that sleep would not come easily.
The feel of the bed reminded him of Penny, the warmth of her, the exciting smoothness of her shoulders, bare except for the narrow satin straps of her nightgown. The exotic scent of her perfume teasing his nostrils. The springs softly squeaking as he turned to face her, and the fragrance and silky spill of her hair against his hand when he touched her face….
The sensual fullness of her lips when he kissed her, and the taste of her, the lazy, lovely play of her tongue against his. The feeling of her hands stroking his shoulders, his biceps, the muscles of his back. And then, oh then…
No. No. No. Don’t think of that. You’ll drive yourself insane.
He got up, took a quick cold shower and toweled himself dry. He slipped back into his slacks and padded downstairs, barefoot and bare-chested. He made his way silently into the kitchen, knowing that Gerty had put the Chenin Blanc back into the refrigerator.
He poured himself a full glass, then went to the sunporch and sat, staring at the moon over the black silhouettes of the treetops. This was where he’d kissed Penny for the first time—and knew his life was forever altered.
CHAPTER TWELVE
A LIGHT WENT ON IN THE KITCHEN. Craig stood and went to the slider door, his half-empty wineglass in his hand. He saw Gerty taking a carton of milk from the refrigerator. He knocked on the door, startling her.
Opening the slider, he stepped into the kitchen. “Hi, Gerty. I raided your Chenin Blanc.”
“It’s not mine,” Gerty said. “It’s Maeve’s and she’d opened it for you. Drink up. I understand. Me? My stomach says warm milk.”
“It’s hard on you, isn’t it?” he said. “Seeing her this way.”
“I have some harsh words in my head for that Ritchie woman,” Gerty muttered, her face stony. “Don’t ask me to say them.”
“It’s a deal. I’ve got harsh words of my own.”
Gerty filled a mug with milk and put it in the microwave. She shook her head in disgust. “Poor Maeve. She’s a very innocent woman. Or was.”
Craig leaned one shoulder against the kitchen wall. “Tell me. Why do you call her Maeve and him Mr. Branch?”
“She insisted I call her Maeve. He preferred to be called Mr. Branch. Humph! He was so vain. I suppose he still is. That he’s sitting in some high-price hotel, drinking his cognac. God willing, someday he’ll sit in a prison cell. But it will punish Maeve more than him.”
“And punish his sons and daughter,” Craig said moodily.
“Come,” she said. “Sit with me. We’ll talk.”
She took her mug from the microwave and shuffled to the breakfast nook. She wore a large, pink robe and fuzzy pink slippers made to look like rabbits, with little black button eyes, embroidered whiskers and stand-up pink ears. Almost smiling, he sat down across from her.
But she didn’t smile. “You’re very worried about Penny, too?”
“Yeah,” he admitted. “I worry about all of them.”
“But mostly Penny,” she said, narrowing with a shrewd look. “You miss her.”
He took a swig of wine. “I miss her. But I don’t understand her any longer.”
“None of us do,” Gerty stated. “Not even Maeve. Maeve said Penny changed one summer. About fourteen, fifteen years ago. She had a lot of assignments in France and Italy. When she came home, she was—what’s the word?—subdued. She didn’t seem like her old self.
“Then she went to the Caribbean for a shoot. She came back, Maeve said, even more pale and quiet. Gradually she got better. But she didn’t seem the same. Not until she met you.”
“Me?” Craig said in surprise.
“‘Penny came back to herself,’ Maeve said. Meeting you was like magic medicine for her. Maeve and I knew right away she was in love. You remember your first date? You went to that park she likes so much.”
“I remember,” he said in a masterpiece of understatement.
“Maeve and I were sitting right here, having hot chocolate when she came in that night, so happy, her face shining. You went where else? Besides the park?”
His lip twitched in a melancholy smile. “The zoo and the aquarium. I thought that I could walk. But her? Wow.”
He paused, remembering. “We rode on one of the antique trolleys. I think it was the one called Petunia.”
“She always liked those trolleys.”
“We ended up splitting a cheeseburger and potato chips at a bar called Adair’s. When I walked in I didn’t know it was famous. When I walked out I knew why it was famous.”
He remembered the world-class cheeseburger, the great music, the graffiti, the saloon rules posted on the wall, beginning with Dance With the One Who Bring You or No Damn Dancing.
There were photos tacked up everywhere, mostly of musicians, but Penny pointed to a shadowy corner and said her brothers’ pictures were there, that when they raced in Dallas, they always brought their teammates here.
She seemed proud of that, her brothers’ photos being hung in Adair’s. And though Craig drank little, he and Penny each had a bottle of Coors Light to salute the official beer of NASCAR.
There was the click of pool balls and the ping of slot machines and Hank Williams’s voice coming out of the jukebox. Penny and he sat at a rickety table in the back, covered with patched vinyl. “Isn’t your picture up here?” he asked.
She shook her head. “I fly under the radar when I’m home. People hardly ever recognize me—little makeup, no false eyelashes, no designer clothes. I’m just another Texas blonde, kind of a tomboy one.”
He didn’t agree with the last statement. She might try to look like a tomboy, but she was all woman, and despite deprecating her looks, she was lovely. Lovely and down-to-earth.
“You don’t sound like you’re crazy about modeling,” he said.
“It was exciting at first,” she said. “But it gets old. And it’s all about appearance, not substance. Sawyer’s supersmart and the twins have to do difficult things, drive like superheroes. Concentrate like crazy, and have impossibly fast reflexes. Have bodily strength and mental discipline. I have to put inch-deep makeup on my face and try to look natural. Not quite the same league as my brothers.”
He didn’t know much about modeling, but he knew it involved more than that. And he didn’t want to relinquish her yet, so he cajoled her into going to a movie. But then she had to go home; she had a shoot in the morning for a major department store.
When he kissed her good-night on the porch, it was hellishly difficult to stop kissing her. Against her lips, he asked, “When can I see you again?”
She stayed so close, he felt her breath on his mouth. “Whenever you want,” she whispered.
“Tomorrow night?”
“I’d love to.”
His heart had knocked so hard, he thought it might break through his chest. He hadn’t been so happy in years. Maybe he’d never been so happy.
Now, Gerty said, “Ahh, you look very nostalgic.”
“I guess I’m being very nostalgic,” he admitted.
“That night when she came home, she looked happier than I’d ever seen her.”
She paused, her eyes crinkling at the edges. “And the next thing she said was, ‘Gerty, he said your picnic lunch was better than the food at Adair’s.’ I said I was deeply honored. Then her face got all serious. And she said, ‘Gerty, will you teach me to cook? Please?’ I looked at Maeve, and Maeve looked at me, and we knew. She already loved you. Maeve was afraid it would never happen, her falling in love.”
“Now she’s fallen out,” Craig said.
“Liebe wird einen Weg finden,” Gerty said. “Love will make its way.”
He shrugged. But, something Gerty had said nagged him. “What Maeve told you,” he said. “About Penny changing? Can you tell me more?”
She took a thoughtful sip of her milk. “Maeve said she came back weak and without her old high spirits. Gradually she got better, but never quite the same as she was. Till you. And then it was like she really came home again. At last.”
Craig frowned. “So something happened when she was about seventeen?”
Gerty looked pensive. “So it seems. But what is a mystery. Nobody could get her to talk about it. Maeve’s a romantic. She thinks maybe an unhappy love affair. Oh, I shouldn’t say such a thing.”
“It’s all right,” he said, frowning harder. A vague explanation was better than none. She was a beautiful woman, and men must have pursued her in howling packs.
He’d fallen in love when he was nineteen with the most vivacious and brightest girl on campus, Susan Strauss. He asked to marry him his junior year, and she said yes. But the autumn after they’d graduated, she’d given back the ring. He was already married, she accused. To his family, to his precious farm, to his work. She felt neglected and scornful.
He’d thought she’d torn a piece out of his heart and that he’d never feel whole again. So he’d avoided getting deeply involved with anyone again—until Penny. Oh, there had been plenty of women, he couldn’t deny that. But he never intended to fall headlong in love again. Susan Strauss had taught him well.
But he didn’t speak of himself. He said, “When my sister was sixteen, she’d spend hours practicing signing the name she wanted most. Mrs. Brad Pitt. Mrs. William Bradley Pitt. Dena Pitt. Dena Lockhart Pitt. Dena Lee Pitt. We teased her until she’d cry. I still can’t mention his name in front of her. She threatens death.”
Gerty nodded wisely. “At that age, such emotions.”
I’m not doing so great at this age, he thought gloomily. He remembered his niece’s angst about the boys killed in the car accident, how deeply it had affected her. Gerty was right: at that age, such emotions. But he wasn’t a teenager, and he shouldn’t think like one.
Gerty patted his hand. “Be patient with Penny. She doesn’t come from an average family, you know. I’m going back to bed now. Take it easy on the Chenin Blanc.”
PENNY AWOKE WITH A GROAN. Another full day with Dink Dinklage and his hypersexual lingerie. Another day away from Dallas and her mother. And Craig.
She’d unplugged the hotel phone last night, and muted her cell phone. Now she sat up groggily and turned it on. Oh, rats, she thought, her heart plummeting. Sixteen calls. Almost all from unknown callers. Reporters? News services? Busybodies?
Bart had called only ten minutes ago. She squinted at the clock. It was six-fifteen. She set her jaw in determination and phoned him back.
He answered almost immediately. “Penn? I just tried calling you.”
“I saw. I just woke up. Bart, I had a lot of calls last night. Did you?”
“What do you mean by ‘a lot?’” he asked, exasperation in his voice.
“Sixteen, counting yours.”
He gave a bitter snort of laughter. “I had sixty-three. Will had sixty-one. All hell’s about to break loose.”
She raked her hand through her hair. “Oh, Bart, what are we going to do?”
“Will and I spent half the night with our reps from P.R.”
“Anita and Kylie?” she asked. Both women worked for MMG, Motor Media Group, and she knew them well.
“Sandra was there, too,” he said.
Sandra Jacobs owned MMG. Penny knew Sandra was already working overtime to find new sponsors for the twins, and this situation wasn’t helping.
“So what did they say?” Penny asked, cradling her forehead in her palm.
“Sandra says the first twenty-four hours after a crisis breaks—and it hasn’t broken yet—that time’s the most important.” He paused for emphasis. “It’s important that we don’t be hostile to the media—”
“Even though they’re already hounding us?” Penny put in, teeth clenched.
“—even though they’re already hounding us,” he confirmed. “Here’s why. The respectable media won’t be very interested. This is gossip. Reading about it is like slowing in traffic to look at a bad accident.”
“Wait,” she said, puzzled, “you’re saying—?”
“I’m telling you what Sandra said. The eagles in the media business are the network broadcasters and papers like the New York Times. The eagles may mention us, but they won’t dive-bomb us. What’s going to happen is we’ll be swarmed by gnats—tabloids, bloggers, all the gossip paparazzi.”
“Couldn’t enough gnat bites kill you?” Penny asked.
“Stonewall everybody with a ‘No comment’ and ‘Please respect our family’s privacy in this difficult time.’ We should get a representative to handle all that. But Sandra suggests some of us have a short press conference. We need to decide who’ll speak for us.”
Penny thought fast. “It’s got to be you and Will. On one level, you’ve got the most at stake. The gossip hounds will come after you in packs. You’ve also got experience handling the public and the media. NASCAR gave you that. Mom can’t handle such stuff. Sawyer won’t. I’d get too emotional.”
“Well, we can’t get emotional. We can’t be angry or arrogant or self-righteous. We have to be polite and reasonable. And stick to our script. I’ll give you more detail tonight. What do you have there, two more days?”
“A day and a half,” she said glumly.
“Gerty called early this morning,” Bart said. “Craig stayed there last night. He’s been very good to Mom, she says. He’s a stand-up guy, Penn.”
“Please don’t say things like that,” Penny begged. “Isn’t there enough to think about without dragging my marriage into it?”
“Sorry, I just thought you’d like to know he was there for Mom.”
Which is remarkable, when he’s got so much going on with his own family, she thought, blinking fast to keep back tears.
“I’m sorry, too.” She sighed. “I didn’t mean to snap at you.”
“It’s okay,” he said. “Love you.”
“Love you back,” she replied.
As soon as Bart hung up, she immediately dialed Selma, her agent.
It took Selma eighteen rings to answer. “Penny?” she growled, “It’s dawn. What do you want? At my age I need my beauty sleep. About twenty hours of it.”
“A little problem’s come up about my family.”
“What?” Selma screeched. “Another one?”
“If reporters call, if anybody wants a statement, you have no comment. Okay?”
“Good grief,” Selma exclaimed in disgust. “What now?”
Penny told her about Alyssa Ritchie as briefly as she could, her chin starting to tremble.
“Is your voice shaking?” Selma scolded. “Don’t you dare. Don’t you dare let it shake. You walk tall, baby. You face this trouble like Scarlett O’Hara walking in wearing that scandalous red dress. She is your role model, kid.”
“Sure thing,” Penny said as steadily as she could. Tomorrow is another day.
Two hours later she was lying under the lights in a lascivious position, wearing a black negligee, with Dink standing over her, straddling her, his lens aimed at her cleavage.
Tomorrow is another day, she told herself.
Another day. Another day.
AS SOON AS BART SAID HIS goodbyes to Penny, he phoned Craig and gave him the outline of their P.R. strategy. Craig, just awakened, snapped to full alertness.
“Makes sense,” Craig said, fingering the bristle on his jaw. “I barked at one guy. Won’t do it again. Nobody’ll get out of this unhurt, but the main focus will be on you and Will.”
Bart sighed harshly. “I’m afraid you’re right. The NASCAR angle is going to excite these hyenas. Fame’s a two-edged sword. But I hope it’ll let us take the main hit from the media. Will and I need to be as professional as possible. Not only for the family’s sake, but for NASCAR’S. And our fans and owners and secondary sponsors.”
“Good attitude,” Craig said. The twins had always specialized in being loveable and boyish rogues. But NASCAR had trained them to groom their public image, and it had taught them well. He thought, They’re turning into serious men. And diplomats, as well.
