“Put her do
wn,” Ranger said to Tank, “and return her sign.” He faced the rest of the women. “You can't protest here. You have to return to the lobby. You can have your demonstration down there. Brenda will be walking through in a couple minutes.”
The women turned and got into the elevator and disappeared.
Ranger punched hotel security into his cell phone. “We have protestors in the elevator, heading for the lobby,” he said. “I want them escorted out of the hotel.”
“You're sneaky,” I said to Ranger.
Ranger ushered me back into the suite. “Something to remember.”
Brenda had crammed herself into a low-cut black sweater and tight black jeans.
The sweater gave a first-rate display of her spectacularly augmented breasts.
Truth is, for a moment I was just a teensy jealous. I was half her age, and I was worried that even on a good day, I didn't look as sexy as Brenda. She was wearing strappy heels and long, dangly diamond earrings that caught the light when she moved.
“What was that all about?” she asked.
“More animal cruelty protestors in the hall,” I said. “They're gone.” I thought this was easier than explaining about the breast augmentation issue.
“Honestly, I don't know what their problem is! It's not like I'm torturing puppies. It was a friggin' mink coat. Those minks were born to be coats. Has anyone ever explained that to them?” She turned and pointed her finger at Nancy. “I want you to talk to them. It's your job to make things run smoothly and effortlessly for me. This is all your fault.”
“I'm getting a migraine,” Nancy whispered to me. “I might have to skip the press conference.”
“A migraine isn't going to get you out of this,” I told her. “If you died, I'd drag your cold, dead body to that press conference. If I have to go... you have to go.”
The Women Against Augmentation were MIA when we walked into the lobby with Brenda. A few die-hard fans were milling around, clumped together behind the potted plants, but we swished through before they realized Brenda was in their space. Ranger was wasting no time moving her to the large conference room at the opposite end of the hotel. Nancy was practically running in an attempt to keep ahead of him as he towed Brenda, his hand wrapped around her wrist, partially to hurry her along, partially to keep her from grabbing him. I was last in line, guarding the rear.
The conference room was filled with media when we arrived. A small, raised stage had been set in place. It held two chairs and a table with a vase of flowers and two handheld microphones. Brenda took a chair and Lew Pepper, the concert promoter who had hired Ranger, took the other. Pepper looked over at Ranger, and Ranger deadpanned a cold-eyed stare, extended his index finger at Lew, thumb up to simulate a gun, and pulled the trigger. Lew laughed but looked nervous and pointed to the first reporter up.
A small man with gray hair tied back in a ponytail and wearing a lumpy sports coat of no specific color stood. “I'm from the Princeton paper, and I'd like to know if you feel the lyrics to your latest album are relevant in todays culture.”
“They weren't even relevant when I made the album,” she said. “I always try to avoid content in my songs.”
A woman from a Hunterdon County weekly asked Brenda if she liked horses.
“Sure,” Brenda said. “Doesn't everyone?”
That was followed by a guy who looked like he'd been kicked around the block a few times, recently. “I'm from the Newark paper, and I'd like to know what the gate is on this concert.”
“Not as big as your booze bill,” Brenda said.
Everyone laughed. These people all knew one another. This was a conference for local newsmen. Brenda was a big deal in Trenton, but New York wouldn't cross the river for her. But then, New York didn't cross the river for anyone.
Halfway through the interview, a guy from the Asbury Park paper stood and said he'd heard a rumor that Brenda was being harassed by a stalker who had unsuccessfully tried to kidnap her. Was that issue being addressed while she was in Trenton?
“Absolutely,” Lew Pepper said. “No one's going to kidnap Brenda while she's in Trenton. All stalkers are going to have to be content with buying an album.”
Everyone laughed but Ranger. Ranger was watching the room.
“Is it being addressed?” I asked him.
“He's in the third row. Pudgy guy. White hair. Black-rimmed glasses. In his forties.”
“Why don't you have him ejected? Isn't there a restraining order against him?”
“Yes, but I'd rather have him where I can see him.”