Spin Control (5 page)

“Maybe not every day.” He takes a deep breath, then crosses his arms over his chest. “I know you two have just started seeing each other, but dating Georg isn’t going to be like dating anyone else, Valerie, and I want you to understand the gravity of that. The media feel they have a right to poke into your life if you’re associated with someone who’s in the news.”

“Like with you, when you were at the White House?”

“Exactly.”

The whole media thing is the reason Dad had to move to Schwerinborg. It’s an election year, and President Carew is a very conservative Republican. Not only is he pro-gun, pro-life, and pro-big business, he’s completely anti—gay rights. And in an election year, you don’t want your protocol chief’s wife suddenly coming out of the closet. Stuff like that tends to turn up on Fox News, when someone like Bill O’Reilly asks the president how he can be anti—gay rights when one of his employees is married to a lesbian, especially if he’s had that employee and his family to dinner at the White House numerous times and they’re “personal friends.” (We’re definitely not personal friends, but Dad says that’s how the question would get asked on the Sunday morning political shows.)

So President Carew, out of the goodness of his heart (I think he has a heart, maybe), found Dad this job in Schwerinborg and promised to bring him back to the White House after the election. Dad’s worked for
three U.S. presidents, so he’s the best there is. Even if Carew loses the election, the new president is bound to try to hire my dad back. But still. I know it’s tough on Dad not being at the White House, even if he likes working for Prince Manfred and Princess Claudia.

“Well, maybe not exactly like the White House,” he corrects himself. He gets a slightly sad look on his face, and I feel guilty for bringing it up. “There, I brought my situation upon myself to a certain extent. I knew when I took the job that I had to”—he hesitates for a second, because he’s always careful about how he phrases things—“I had to sanitize my life, in many ways. But I never expected you to have to be so careful, which is why we lived in Vienna, and why I didn’t take you to the White House or to government events very often.”

“To protect me?”

“Yes.” He smiles at me in a way that lets me know he really loves me and views me as an adult—that he’s not just saying all this to exert his Dad Authority over me. “Reporters can be very, very nasty about
personal issues, whether you’re fifteen or fifty. If they suspect you and Georg are dating, they’re going to dig into your personal life, and they won’t be kinder in their approach just because you’re not yet an adult.”

“My personal life is boring. I mean, I get straight A’s, and it’s not like they’re going to dig up some hacked-off ex-boyfriend to talk trash about me.” Because I don’t have any.

“But you were in trouble last year in Vienna when you were caught smoking behind the school.” He pauses for a second, and looks me in the eye. This time, he definitely has the Dad Authority look. “And apparently the minister of the treasury saw you in the bathroom stall with Georg. He’s mentioned it to at least one other person.”

Yeah, no kidding.

So I ask Dad the question that’s been bugging me all afternoon. “Why would he do that? I mean, the guy was puking his guts out. You wouldn’t think he’d want anyone to know.”

My dad lets out a totally uncharacteristic grunt. “That’s exactly why he did it. To
cover himself. A number of people saw him drinking at the event—drinking heavily— and they know he disappeared for a while. I’d be stunned if a reporter or two didn’t notice. But when a friend asked if he was all right, rather than making an excuse or dodging the question, the treasury minister claimed to have been in the restroom longer than usual because he saw something disturbing.”

“Me and Georg.” And I can guess which friend asked him if he was all right: Ulrike’s dad. The guy’s probably just as well-meaning and just as naive about peoples motives as Ulrike, though you’d think a diplomat—even someone assigned to boring Schwerinborg—would be a little more attuned to people’s bullshit.

“Yes. The minister told your friend Ulrike’s father that he saw you and Georg huddled in a bathroom stall, and that he feared you were hiding in there to do drugs. He claimed he stayed in the restroom for several minutes to make sure you two weren’t doing anything illicit.”

I close my eyes for a sec to absorb this. I had no idea things could be this bad. So
much for this being solely Steffi’s fault.

“Of course,” Dad says, “Ulrike’s father knew the whole idea was ridiculous, and told the treasury minister he knew better— he watched me escort the minister out of the room when the minister was feeling ill. Ulrike’s father went to Prince Manfred right away—not to get either of you in trouble, but to ensure that any rumors would be stopped immediately. He knew the treasury minister was intoxicated, and he was worried that the minister might have told the same story to others.”

“So Ulrike’s dad was trying to protect you or something?”

“He was trying to protect all of us— Georg’s family and the two of us. Prince Manfred spoke to the treasury minister this morning. The minister apologized and admitted that he behaved badly at the party—both by becoming intoxicated, then by using you and Georg as an excuse to cover his own inappropriate behavior. So the issue has been handled.”

I’m thinking, not quite, since Ulrike’s dad clearly told her, and she told Steffi,
who has the biggest mouth in the universe. “So no harm, no foul?”

“That’s what we thought, until Georg told his father about the reporter following you two to school today. Prince Manfred is worried that something may have leaked. It’s too much of a coincidence. Both the minister and Ulrike’s father insist they haven’t said a word to anyone else, and would never corroborate a news story about it since they know it’s not true, but you never know what someone might’ve overheard, or what that person might be saying to others.”

Yeah, like Ulrike overhearing and telling Steffi, thinking she was being helpful by preventing me from trying to get Georg hooked on drugs or something.

I’ve got to tell Ulrike this was all a mistake. Shell understand. I can’t say anything to Steffi, but maybe if Ulrike hears the real story, Steffi will get a clue too.

As I brush the crumbs from my cookie into the trash, my eye catches a book on the table out in the living room. Mom sent it to me—she has this thing about self-help books—and all of a sudden, I have a duh moment.

I turn back around to look at Dad. “You know I’m clean, right? I study and don’t cut school, and that the smoking thing is totally over, and I’ve never touched drugs of any kind?”

One side of his mouth curves up. “Yes, I know. You work hard, and I’m proud of you.”

“Then what are you really afraid of the tabloids finding out? Are you afraid that a reporter might write about you and Mom?”

He gives me one of his
you’re smarter than you should be
looks. “It has occurred to me. Europeans are far more accepting of homosexuality than most Americans, but it still makes good tabloid copy. They’ll find a way to twist what happened with me and your mother to question Georg’s choices, or to question the manner in which Prince Manfred and Princess Claudia are raising Georg.”

“That’s insane.”

“It’s reality. Tabloids will print whatever they can in order to sell more papers, and hope that it’s close enough to the truth to keep them from getting sued.”

I grab two green peppers out of the
fridge since I know he’s going to chop them and add them to the chicken when it’s done, and I carry them to the sink. I have a sick feeling about what Dad’s going to say next and I don’t want to get all teary. I’m not the wussy crybaby type at all, but I need to not look at him for a sec.

As I turn on the faucet to wash the peppers, I ask, “Does Prince Manfred think it’d be better if I stayed away from Georg?”

“No, but he is concerned about both of you.” My dad takes the peppers out of my hands and puts them on the counter. “I didn’t tell him about the cigarette incident. However, if the press sees you smoking around Georg, or if he is caught smoking—”

“I told you, we
weren’t
smoking. Those were in there when we got there.” It’s the truth. We weren’t, and they were there when we got there.

“You’re missing my point, honey. Do you think a reporter would care if the cigarettes were already there? If a reporter sees you smoking, or even with a pack in your hand, he’s going to snap a photo. Europeans smoke more than Americans,
but they still don’t want their princes doing it. Plus, a reporter could use that photo to hint that you and Georg are doing other things you shouldn’t be doing, and that’ll open all this up again.”

I force myself to look at him. I’m completely surprised to see he’s not angry with me, just overly worried. “I’ll be careful, Dad. Please believe that I’m not smoking, and that I won’t.”

“I believe you.” I see a little muscle twitch in his cheek, so I know he’s making an effort not to get worked up about this. “Maybe it was wrong to use cigarettes as an example. It could be anything you do. Anything that can be twisted to show that you don’t appreciate European culture. Speeding. Littering. Treating service providers like waiters or desk clerks badly. Do you understand?”

I nod. If I didn’t get it before, I sure do now.

“And I think Georg is terrific. If you recall, I’m the one who took you dress and shoe shopping before your big night out.”

“True.” And he did a fabulous job, too—when the shoe clerks weren’t flirting
with him. Of course, the way he’s looking at me now, I know there’s a big but coming.

“But,” he says, true to form, “I think you and Georg need to have a long talk about this before you take your relationship much further. All right? Georg isn’t going to be like any other boyfriend.”

Like I’ve had any other boyfriend to compare him to. “I’m not sure what there is to talk about, though. We won’t do anything stupid, especially in public.”

“If you need advice, I know a very good protocol expert.” He smiles, but I know he’s dead serious. “If anything, anything at all, feels off to you, like that encounter with the reporter this morning, I want you to tell me immediately.”

The buzzer on the stove goes off, and Dad grabs his cup of marinade so he can pour the rest of it over the chicken since it’s midway through cooking. I’m tempted to tell him about what happened with Steffi—since apparently he doesn’t know that the treasury minister and Ulrike’s dad were definitely overheard, probably on the phone after the party-but I figure it’s
probably nothing. Just Steffi being her usual bitchy self. Once I talk to Ulrike, things will be cool on that front. And who knows? Maybe her fathers already talked to her if he thinks she overheard, and I’ll show up at school tomorrow and everyone will apologize.

It’s a long shot, but I’m willing to pin my hopes on it.

Dad glances over his shoulder at me as he closes the door to the stove. “Are we understood?”

“As long as you give me the big piece of chicken.”

Because what I really understand is that if things don't go well tomorrow, then I’ll tell him.

To: [email protected]

From: [email protected]

Subject: RE: Everything

Dear Valerie,

I hope you and your father are enjoying life in Schwerinborg. As you can imagine, I’m envious of all the rich culture and fine cuisine you must be enjoying there!

Speaking of European food, how did your fancy dinner date go on Friday night? I wish I’d been there to see you in your new dress. Your father said you looked like a movie star. (Of course, I’ve always thought that.) I’m so excited for you, sweetheart.

You might want to check your mail over the next few days—I know you said not to send any more books, but I saw one I just couldn’t resist, and I think it’ll help you keep your head on straight where boys are concerned. Not that I’m worried about Prince Georg—I’m sure he’s quite the gentleman—but indulge me. I can’t turn off the Mom urge simply because you’re far away.

I’m still waiting to hear on the teaching job. I’ll keep you posted. And you know, if you decide you’d like to come back and visit during Winter Break, you’re more than welcome. Gabrielle would love to get to know you better, and I simply miss you.

Lots of love,

Mom

The second sentence of Mom’s morning email makes me laugh aloud, because ever since she moved in with Gabrielle she’s been living on things like wheatgrass and quinoa. If I were in her place, I’d be envious of my food, too, even if it is wacky Euro-McDonald’s half the time as I’m walking home from school. (And really, if she places such a high priority on good food, she should have stayed married to Dad.)

But the rest bugs me. Does Mom really think I need all the self-help books? I mean, she’s always had an addiction to them, and I did say nice things to her after she sent me the first one … but I also specifically stated that she should not send another.

I so do not want to live life according to the publicity junkie, pseudo relationship expert of the moment. Especially my love life. I mean, if Dr. Phil knows so much about dating celebrities, why is he hawking books on
Oprah
while wearing a bad suit instead of living in a mansion with some Pam Anderson wanna-be and attending pool parties?