Size 12 and Ready to Rock (7 page)

More of Stephanie’s teeth are exposed. She laughs, and it sounds like a horse’s whinny.

“I’m serious,” Cooper says, and Stephanie stops laughing.

“That’s cool,” Christopher says. “I hate big weddings.”

“Me too,” I say. “Aren’t they the worst? Who needs another Crock-Pot?”

“About the shooting,” Cooper says. “The man who was shot, Bear—”

Stephanie and Christopher look startled by the sudden change of subject.

“Bear? Great guy,” Christopher says. “Really, really could not feel worse about what happened to him. His nickname is so right-on. He’s a big cuddly teddy bear.”

“A big cuddly teddy bear who happens to be a bodyguard,” Cooper says.

“Well,” Christopher says, blinking. “Yeah. He’s a teddy bear unless you get too close to someone he’s protecting. Then he’ll rip your head off.”

“But that’s not what happened tonight?”

It’s interesting to watch Cooper at work. Stephanie and Christopher don’t seem to have caught on that that’s what Cooper is doing. To them, he appears to be a concerned big brother.

I, on the other hand, can tell he’s piecing together the beginning of his own private investigation into what exactly went down on Varick Street.

“Oh no,” Stephanie says, her eyes widening. In the glow from the fairy lights strung along the terrace walls, I can see that the vein in the middle of her forehead has calmed down. This is because Cooper has lulled her into thinking we’re just four friends, sitting around a patio table, talking.

This is far from the truth, however.

“The police said it was probably teenagers goofing off,” Stephanie says, “although when I was a teenager, we goofed off by throwing eggs at people’s cars, not shooting at them with guns.”

“But were the teenagers shooting at each other,” Cooper asks, “or Bear? Or my brother?”

His gaze has drifted toward Jordan, who can be seen through the French doors looking on worriedly while the EMTs take Tania’s vitals. I’ll admit it’s a fascinating sight, not just because the blood pressure cuff is so huge on Tania’s tiny arm, but because Jordan is being so solicitous. This is apparently as foreign to Cooper as it is to me.

Stephanie looks shocked. “No one would have any reason to shoot Bear, much less Tania or your brother. Jordan and Tania are two of the most liked celebrities on Facebook. Jordan has 15 million friends, Tania over 20 million—”

“And yet,” Cooper says, “they have a bodyguard.”

“To keep away fans who get overly friendly, and overzealous paps.”

Neither Cooper nor I need clarification. She means the paparazzi. The press wasn’t such a big deal when I was in the business, but they’re an ever-present hazard for Jordan and Tania, whose every move is followed voraciously by a pack of photographers bearing telephoto lenses. I know because I can’t turn on the Internet without seeing some headline about where Jordan ate or what Tania was wearing.

Cooper lets it drop. “So, Chris, what’s the name of your club?”

Christopher looks taken aback. “Well, Epiphany’s not really
my
club . . .”

“Sorry, I thought you said it was.”

“Christopher’s one of a few investors,” Stephanie says, quickly coming to the defense of her boyfriend. “That’s how he and I met. One of my sorority sisters’ brothers is also an investor, and I was there for her bachelorette party, and I met Chris, and one thing led to another, and—”

This appears to be too much information for Cooper. “Okay, then,” he interrupts. “Why here?”

“Excuse me?” Christopher asks, looking confused.

“Why did you decide to film here instead of going back to Jordan and Tania’s place after the shooting?”

“Oh, that’s easy,” Christopher says. “To avoid the paps.”

“They heard about the shooting over the police scanners,” Stephanie explains, “and it sent them into a feeding frenzy. They were all over us back at Epiphany. Anyway, afterward, Tania wasn’t feeling well . . . understandably, since it was so hot and the police did hold us there for a while. The paps have Jordan and Tania’s place staked out.”

“I realized my parents’ place, on the other hand, was close by,” Christopher said, with a shrug. “And the paps don’t know about it. So I offered the use of it. I knew Mom and Dad wouldn’t mind.” He gives me one of his boyish grins. “I have to admit, I forgot about you, Heather, and your overprotectiveness of the kids in this building. I didn’t think you’d be here on a Sunday night.”

I glare at him. “I wouldn’t have to be overprotective of the kids in this building if
some
people weren’t always trying to take advantage of them.”

Stephanie’s curiosity is aroused. She looks from Christopher to me. “What’s she talking about?” she asks.

“Nothing,” Christopher says quickly. “Water under the bridge.”

“It wouldn’t have occurred to you to call it quits for the day,” Cooper says, steering the conversation back to the shooting. “After all, a violent crime was committed against one of your cast members.”

Stephanie’s eyes widen. “
Tania Trace’s bodyguard was shot,
” she reminds us, in case we’d forgotten. “During the filming of a reality show
about
Tania Trace. It would be dishonest of us not to film the very natural emotional reaction of Tania and Jordan to the shooting, even though the wound turned out only to require a few stitches. It was a truly frightening experience, and our viewers are going to want to feel what it was like right along with Jordan and Tania. And we don’t intend to let our viewers down. Not to mention we have only a limited amount of time in order to get the more, er, intimate footage between Tania and Jordan finished. Tania Trace Rock Camp starts in a matter of days, and—”

“Tania Trace
what?
” I interrupt.

“Tania Trace Rock Camp,” Stephanie says. She blinks at me. “Oh my God, you haven’t heard of it?”

I exchange a glance with Cooper after taking a sip from my water bottle. “We don’t really keep up with Jordan’s and Tania’s professional activities,” I say diplomatically.

“Tania Trace Rock Camp is an initiative started by Tania Trace,” Stephanie says, like she’s reading from a brochure, “to help empower young girls through music education. By providing them with opportunities to express themselves creatively through singing, songwriting, and performing, she’s building up the self-esteem and musical awareness of a whole new generation of young women who might otherwise, because of the way women are portrayed through the media, as sexual objects for men’s desire, develop negative self-images.”

“Wow,” I say, pleasantly surprised. This actually sounds really cool. I can’t believe Tania thought it up.

Then I realize Tania probably didn’t. A publicity team likely came up with the idea and approached her with it, or maybe it was commissioned by Cartwright Records, giving in to pressure from parents’ groups upset with Tania’s music videos, in which she’s usually scantily clothed and on top of a pool table.

Even so, it’s a great idea. Why didn’t I think of doing something like this back when I had the money for it and people would actually have shown up?

“Where is the camp?” I ask.

“At the beautiful Fairview Resort in the Catskills,” Stephanie says, still quoting from the brochure that appears to exist in her head. “We had over 200,000 applicants, but with Tania being pregnant, and the shooting schedule, not to mention the new record she’s working on, Tania has only so much time and energy to give, so we could really only accept fifty.”

Fifty?
Out of 200,000? Well, I guess it’s
something.

“And we could only accept girls whose families were willing to sign the waivers allowing them to be on the show,” Stephanie goes on.

Suddenly attending Tania Trace Rock Camp doesn’t sound so great after all.

My cell phone vibrates. I check it and see that Sarah is finally calling back. Relieved to have an excuse not to listen to Stephanie Brewer go on about her difficulties as a TV producer anymore, I beg everyone’s pardon, then get up from my chair to walk to the far side of the terrace so I can talk to Sarah in private.

“Hey, are you all right?” I ask her. “I was worried. I left like three messages.”

“No, I’m not all right,” she says crankily. “That’s why I didn’t pick up. What do you want?”

Whoa. I’m used to Sarah’s moods, but this is snippy, even for her.

“Are you crying?” I ask. “Because your voice sounds—”

“Yes,” Sarah says. “As a matter of fact, I am crying. Are you aware that someone called Protection to report an unconscious student and unauthorized party in the building?”

“Yes,” I say. “I
am
aware of that, actually, and I have it covered. Why are you crying?”

“I don’t see how you could have it covered when you aren’t here,” Sarah says, ignoring my question. “I understand you
were
here, but Simon says you left.”

“Oh,” I say. “You spoke with Simon?” I’m confused. “Is that why you’re crying? He didn’t try to blame you for the paintball war thing, did he? Because believe me, that was entirely—”

“I know Gavin and those stupid ballplayers cooked that up,” Sarah says sourly. “We rounded up all the paint guns, and I’ll make sure they get returned to the sports complex tomorrow. We couldn’t locate anyone unconscious, though. Everyone seems to be accounted for. Simon left after giving each of the Pansies his card and telling them they can call him any time with their personal problems.” A dry note has crept into Sarah’s voice.

“Oh God,” I say.

“Yes,” Sarah says. “You know Simon’s applied for the job of director of this building, right?”

“
What?
” I’ve already been hit with a paintball, found my staff drinking, and run into my ex-boyfriend and his new wife filming a reality show in the building where I work. I didn’t think things could get worse. But guess what? “No way. He’s got Wasser Hall, the crown jewel of residence halls. Why would he want to work
here?
”

“Uh,” Sarah says, in a cynical tone, “because he thinks it’ll look really good on his résumé to be the guy who pulled the dorm with the most deaths in it ever out from the depths of its misery. And it wouldn’t hurt to be here to help the president and the basketball team through Pansygate either. He’s an idiot, but he’s no fool.”

I say a word that I’m sure would be too dirty to air on Cartwright Records Television.

“Pretty much,” Sarah says. “Dr. Jessup’s reviewing his CV. Simon thinks he’s a shoo-in because he’s in-house. Anyway, do you have any idea why there’s an ambulance parked outside but the attendants are nowhere to be found? Could they have gone into a neighboring building? The guard at the desk insists they came in here with some guy, but the guard’s a temp and I don’t think he knows what he’s—”

“Sarah,” I interrupt. “I don’t want this to get around. You know how gossipy this department is. But I’m with the EMTs. They’re in the president’s apartment.”

“Oh.” Sarah’s tone changes. “Is everyone all right?”

“So far,” I say. “It’s no one related to New York College.”

“Really?” Sarah sounds less tearful. “It’s not—?”

I know what she’s about to ask—if it’s Mrs. Allington.

“No,” I say firmly. “Not even close. It has to do with Junior.” That’s our code name for Christopher.

“Oh God,” Sarah says, sounding disgusted. “I don’t want to know, do I?”

I look behind me. Through the French doors, I can see the EMTs putting away their equipment. Tania is looking a bit less forlorn. She’s even managing to smile a bit. Jordan is on his feet and shaking the female attendant’s hand.

“No,” I say to Sarah, turning around again. “You don’t want to know. So why were you crying?”

“I don’t feel like talking about it,” Sarah says, sullen again. “It’s personal.”

I’m fairly certain I know what’s troubling her. She’s had another fight with Sebastian Blumenthal, the first real love of her life. Sebastian’s head of the GSC, the Graduate Student Union, and teaches at New York College. I once strongly suspected him of murder, but I guess that’s not unusual, given that he carries a man purse . . . not a messenger bag or a backpack, but an honest-to-goodness murse.

“That’s all right,” I say to Sarah. “Maybe we can talk about it tomor—”

“Great, bye,” Sarah interrupts, and hangs up on me.

Wow. I can’t keep track of all the ups and downs of Sarah’s turbulent relationship, but I do know that tomorrow morning I’ll be picking up chocolate croissants on my way in to work. They usually cheer her up.

I hang up too, then turn around and notice that Jordan has come out onto the terrace. He’s joined Cooper and Christopher and Stephanie, who’ve stood up from the table. Tania is still sitting on the couch inside. She’s pulled a large designer purse onto her lap and is digging around in it. The EMTs appear to have gone.

I go stand by Cooper’s side and catch only the tail end of what Jordan is saying.

“—definitely dehydrated and most likely anemic.”

“Well, that’s no surprise,” Stephanie says. “She’s vegan.”

Cooper says, without a hint of irony in his voice, “You know, Stephanie, I’ve heard it’s possible these days to be vegan and not be anemic.”

I hide a smile. Cooper eats cheeseburgers like they’re about to be declared illegal, and he needs to get as many under his belt as possible before the legislation passes. The worst part of it is that he never gains an ounce—possibly from his enthusiastic exercise regime, which includes playing one-on-one basketball on the Third Street courts—and has the blood pressure of a polar bear. Some people have all the luck in the genetic lottery.

So it’s amusing to see him coming to the defense of a vegetarian.

“I’m just saying.” Stephanie had obviously been assuming, because Cooper’s a guy, that she could score points with him by maligning vegans. Ha. Wrong. Cooper doesn’t care what people do, so long as they don’t hurt other people. “She’s pregnant. She needs to be careful. Pregnant women need more iron than the rest of us, and there’s a lot of iron in red meat.”

“That’s what the ambulance lady said.” Jordan is looking worried. “She told us Tania should see her private physician tomorrow morning for blood work. But also that Tania should go home now and rest.”