Lone Star Legend (24 page)

Jane sighed. “I don’t know. Why don’t you call and ask her?”

“I can’t.”

“Then why’d you write it? Obviously, you’re hoping she
will
see it, aren’t you?”

Sandy frowned. “Well… yeah, kind of. But you know why I wrote it, right? Have you seen the stuff she’s been pulling?”

“No, but I can imagine. I know how she can get.” Jane sighed again. “Look, Sandy, I don’t want to get in the middle of this.
You know she’s going to freak out, and I’m not going to try to explain it to her. You need to call her yourself. Or take that
post down.”

“I can’t. It has too many page views. It’s already paid for my lunches this week.”

“Well.” Jane paused. “Whatever. I don’t know. I have to go, okay? I’ll call you back later.”

Sandy hung up, feeling even more regretful. And alone.

She had run out of people to confide in. Veronica was acting like a flake, and Jane was being a hard-ass. Normally, at a time
like this, she would have opened up her laptop and typed a nice, long entry to everyone else in the world. Then someone would
have commented, saying she knew just how Sandy felt. And then Sandy would feel better about the whole thing.

But that was no longer an option. She’d been cheated out of it by George, and by Daniel.

The night before, Sandy had called Tony O., the Chilean writers’ group leader, thinking he might want to get that coffee with
her sometime this weekend. He hadn’t picked up. He hadn’t responded to the text she’d sent him the day before that, either.
Sandy didn’t know if it was because of George’s article. Really, she didn’t want to know. She deleted Tony’s phone number
and thanked God no one knew he’d ever given it to her. At least, she thought, she had learned her lesson as far as talking
about romantic prospects online. Never again. Too bad the damage was already done, though. Would anyone with an Internet connection
ever want to date her again? Maybe she could change her name.

“Sandy? Are you here?” Angelica’s spike-heeled shadow filled the doorway.

“I’m here.”

“We have space for an extra segment this week. You haven’t done any extras in a while and I was thinking we could use the
Chupacabra piece you just turned in. Francisco can intro it for you. I think the viewers would really enjoy it. What do you
think?”

Sandy sighed. She didn’t care anymore, honestly. “Sure. Fine.”

As quickly as she’d walked in, Angelica swept away again.

Sandy heaved a quiet sigh. She couldn’t wait until the stink from George’s article blew over and she could go back to some
semblance of a normal life.

June 17, 2008

L
EVY
M
EDIA
, I
NC
.

c/o A
NGELICA
V
ILLANUEVA
O’S
ULLIVAN

S
ENT VIA
: C
OURIER

R
E
: U
NAUTHORIZED USE OF
J
AIME
E
SCOBAR’S IMAGE

I write as attorney for Jaime Escobar.

We have recently learned that you have posted various digital images and footage of Mr. Escobar on your site at
www.nachopapiswebsite.com
, and have used his image on articles of clothing sold on said site. In addition, you have used footage of Mr. Escobar on
the Nacho Papi television program. In all these instances, you have used Mr. Escobar’s image without his permission.

Based upon the foregoing, we hereby demand that you confirm to us in writing within ten days of receipt of this letter that:
1) you have removed all infringing materials from your site, and 2) you will refrain from posting any similar infringing material
on the Internet, on television, or any other medium in the future.

Sincerely,

Richard Tallamantez

O
h, no,” Sandy said after reading the letter Angelica had handed her. “This is terrible. It’s from his nephew. He’s a lawyer.”

“No, it’s fine,” said Angelica. “We’re completely covered. That release form the old man signed is iron clad. He doesn’t have
anything on us. Oh, that reminds me, Sandy. I need you to send a copy of his release to Legal. They need it for their files.”

Sandy mumbled a response that Angelica could take to mean yes. Angelica gave Sandy one of her too-hard pats on the shoulder
and swept away to oversee the day’s taping.

This was it, Sandy told herself. She was going to get Levy Media sued, and then she was going to get fired. This was the beginning
of the end.

She trekked to the studio on mental autopilot.

The moment she walked in Angelica had passed her the letter as if she were passing on a piece of fan mail, or a cookie. As
if it was no big deal. Sandy supposed Nacho Papi’s new television studio was too chaotic a place for its residents to take
anything but the show seriously. Either that, or Angelica really
didn’t
think the cease-and-desist letter was an issue. Sandy sighed. In Angelica’s world there really was no such thing as bad publicity.

Co-workers rushed past Sandy like shoppers on Black Friday, leaving her standing there like a traffic island, clutching her
letter. As quickly as she’d left, Angelica returned to Sandy with the new girl, Trisha “La Sirena” MacLeod, who was leading
two very young women through the studio. One of them kept staring at Sandy, although she was obviously trying to be unobtrusive
about it.

“Sandy,” said Angelica, “this is your last chance. Are you sure you don’t want to do this interview?”

“I’m positive.” Sandy folded her arms across her chest and couldn’t resist reaching to adjust her glasses again. Nor could
she look into La Sirena’s eyes or the faces of the girls with her. Angelica’s latest idea was downright scandalous, and it
involved Sandy, but that didn’t mean that Sandy had to get involved.

“No, you’re right, it’s better this way,” Angelica muttered. Then she turned back to La Sirena’s guests. “Did you girls sign
your release forms? We can’t put you on the show without release forms.”

They both nodded and smiled like twin dolls, and then La Sirena led them away. Sandy went to the editing room to watch, not
trusting herself to stay quiet on set. On the monitors she watched La Sirena and her two guests settle themselves into the
multi-loveseated interview set. The crew made last-minute adjustments to lighting and positioning. An older woman fluttered
around La Sirena, powdering all the skin showing around her low-cut halter top. When the young director gave the word, La
Sirena faced the camera and started.

“I’m here with Jenny Martinez and Missy Hawthorne, two students at the University of Texas.” The two girls smiled and waved
at the camera. La Sirena continued. “And they have a story to tell us. Missy, I’ll start with you. You were recently at a
function for Lolita Boutique, correct?”

“That’s right,” Missy said with a slight blush. Then she faced the camera directly and explained, “I’m launching a career
as a lingerie model.”

“While you were at the party a man approached you and showed you a press pass, correct?”

“Yes. He said he was a famous journalist and that he could get me an interview and photo shoot with a top magazine.”

“What magazine?” La Sirena leaned forward with a concerned look on her face, reminding Sandy of a real talk-show host.

“He didn’t say. But he kept hinting around that it was something really big—that he’d fly me to New York or LA or something.”

“And what was that man’s name?” La Sirena asked.

“George,” said Missy the lingerie model. “George Cantu.”

La Sirena turned to face the camera. Behind her, George’s old staff picture popped up on the screen. It was quickly replaced
by a succession of unflattering photos of George in various settings. There was one of him eating at a party, with a bit of
dip smeared on the side of his mouth. There was another in which he’d been caught grinning lecherously at a woman in a bikini.
Sandy recognized it from the lowrider show they’d covered three months ago. It seemed like it’d been years.

“George Cantu is a writer for Buzz News in San Antonio. As longtime Nacho Papi readers will remember, he worked for us until
a month ago, when he made a name for himself at Buzz by writing a character-assassination piece on our own Sandy S.”

Behind her, the monitor dutifully switched to photos of Sandy. These, mercifully, were flattering. Sandy almost didn’t recognize
herself in them. There was one in particular in which she was wearing a strapless evening gown that had been lent to her by
a local designer for a party in Atlanta. Sandy looked hot in that picture—she couldn’t deny it. More than one man had hit
on her that night. And yet she wondered if Francisco or one of the new tech guys had airbrushed it to smooth out her skin
and add the smallest shadow of cleavage. She frowned at the thought.

“Missy, did George ever get you an interview or a photo shoot?” La Sirena asked.

The girl shook her head. “No. I had dinner with him twice, and he kept making excuses for why it hadn’t happened yet. And
he kept trying to get me to go back to his place. He said he wanted to take some Polaroids to show his producers. And, like,
hinting that he could do more, if I did more for him. You know?”

“Oh, we know, Missy.” The monitor went back to the picture of George leering as La Sirena turned to the other young woman,
who was a more petite Latina with dark hair, and didn’t seem like the lingerie modeling type. “Now, Jenny, you weren’t so
lucky, were you?”

Jenny shook her head, looking equal parts rueful and excited to have her turn in the spotlight. “No. I met George at a party
downtown. I told him I was a singer-songwriter, and he said he could get his bosses to do a story about my band.”

La Sirena nodded sympathetically. “And then what happened?”

Jenny did blush. “I went home with him that night, and we… uh… hooked up.”

Sandy shook her head as she watched the monitor.
That poor girl
. Sandy decided to interview the girl and her band later, to make up for the fact that she’d had to sleep with George.

La Sirena said, “You told me, when we met, that something unusual happened while you and George were being intimate. Would
you like to share that with us now?”

Everyone in the editing room with Sandy paused. Sandy was surprised by La Sirena’s tasteless question, but found herself taking
a step forward to hear the answer.

“When he, uh,” the young woman said. “When he, uh, reached that point, you know… He called me a name.”

“A bad name?” La Sirena pressed.

“No. Someone else’s name.” Jenny looked a little regretful now, as if maybe she was reconsidering her decision to tell this
story on the air. Sandy felt even more sympathy for her.

But La Sirena leaned forward and urged her onward. “Whose name?”

“Sandy S.,” said the girl. “He called out ‘Oh, Sandy!’ ”

Right on cue, the picture of Sandy in the strapless gown went up on the monitor. There was a quiet gasp in the editing room.
A couple of staff members turned to look at Sandy, who had been the one to make the noise. She felt as if a bucket of mud
had just fallen on her head. She couldn’t have been more shocked, disarmed, or disgusted if the answer had been his own mother’s
name. Or Angelica’s. Or the current president’s.

La Sirena faced the camera with a triumphant smirk on her face. “Wow, George. We knew you missed Nacho Papi, but we didn’t
know you missed it
that
much.”

Sandy hurried out of the editing room. She wanted to flee the scene but knew she had to stop Angelica from putting this segment
on air first. La Sirena was wrapping up the interview when Sandy got there. She and her guests said goodbye and stood up,
and then, fast as cartoon characters, the staff members and interns prepared the interview set for something else. La Sirena
and her guests had walked a little way from the set with Angelica, who was congratulating them on a good job.

Sandy marched over and interrupted their conversation. “Hey. You didn’t tell me you guys were going to talk about that. I
didn’t agree to that.”

Angelica looked at her in surprise. “What’s wrong, Sandy? It was a good story. It completely discredited that piece George
did with your ex, and that picture of you looked fantastic. I thought you’d be happy.”

“No, I’m not happy. I’m completely humiliated!” Sandy practically shouted it, then saw the two interviewees looking at her
in open curiosity. La Sirena had her usual smile pasted in place. Why, Sandy wondered, was she the only one who saw how wrong
this was? She stammered, “I just didn’t think it was going to be so…
personal
.”

Angelica laughed. “Oh, come on, Sandy. You, Miss TragiComedy Texas, are worried about a story being too personal?”

The other women laughed, and Angelica led the two guests away. La Sirena put a hand on Sandy’s arm, reminiscent of Angelica’s
but less rough. “Sandy, I’m sorry. I thought you knew.”

“I didn’t know. I thought it was just going to be a story about George using his press pass to meet women. I didn’t know it
was going to turn into something so… creepy.”

“Hey, don’t worry about it. Just between you and me, the girl wasn’t even sure he’d actually said your name. It was probably
just ‘baby’ or ‘mami.’ But this way it’s a better story, and we get him back for what he did to you, right?”

Sandy didn’t answer.

“Listen,” La Sirena said, her voice as sweet as a skinny latte, “you look stressed. Why don’t you go somewhere and chill out?
Go shopping or something. I’ll cover for you with Angelica, and I’ll take your news segment for the day.”

Sandy pulled away from the younger woman’s fake-friendly touch. “No, I’m fine. I can do my own segment. Thanks, anyway.” She
finished with a fake smile of her own, not wanting La Sirena to see that she was annoyed.

Get it together, Sandy told herself as she walked to the news set, smiling at the co-workers she passed. Now wasn’t the time
to fall apart emotionally. She didn’t want Angelica—or that two-faced La Sirena—to think that she couldn’t handle her job.
Not after how hard she’d worked to get here in the first place.