Lynn and I have been friends forever. We met in middle school the day we got stuck in detention for running our mouths and have been fast friends ever since. She rode the wave of fame and publicity right alongside me. She is my rock as I am hers, and we both consider ourselves the sisters we never had. Perhaps she has a point. I toss the magazine aside, reach for my purse, and pull out my cell. Three rings later, I hear his voice.
“Dad. How are you this morning?” Silence grows on the other end of the line. “You there?”
“Any reason why I’m staring at my daughter on the front cover of yet another popular magazine?”
Shit! Shit! Shit!
“Dad, look, you know I haven’t been out much. I’ve been so careful after what happened last year. But this isn’t what it looks like—”
“Save it, Savannah. Do you have any idea what kind of damage you cause me? I have three people working on this, wasting their time on this crap!”
“Dad, please let me explain—”
“No, Savi, we’ll discuss it tomorrow night at dinner.” The line goes dead.
I toss the phone on the counter and rub my face with both hands. Lynn touches my back gently, giving me a few moments to process everything. I sigh and run my hands through my hair. Lynn moves in front of me, getting me to look at her.
“Come on, Savi, let’s get out of here.”
After a hot shower, I start to come around a little. I pull on my favorite navy blue dress with black boots and a black pea coat.
“Okay, okay, stop fussing,” Lynn groans from my door. “You look fine.”
“If I end up looking like I have a hangover and the media finds me, you know they’ll have a ball with the story.”
She grabs my shoulders and looks at me in the mirror. “Who cares what anyone thinks, Savi? Anyone who knows the real you knows you have a heart of gold…and a quick tongue to put people in their place.” She grins. “What’s not to love?”
“I am pretty great,” I joke.
We link arms as we walk out the door. We have to sidestep two painters outside in the hall, and as I push the button on the elevator, I glance at one of the men. He’s wearing a massive belt buckle that reads ‘Texas’ with a longhorn head sticking out of the center.
“He’s a long way from home,” I mutter.
Lynn shakes her head. “Oh, please.” She laughs, noting the direction of my gaze. “They’re a dime a dozen at any market.” She hustles us into the elevator. I sigh, not eager to face the outdoors.
“Ready?” She slips on her sunglasses.
“I guess so.”
“Stop worrying, Savannah,” Lynn says through a bite of her bagel. “Your dad will get over this. You know how he is.”
“I know. I just hate disappointing him, especially over something like this, and I’ve been so careful.” I think about the last time I made it on the cover of a magazine. I tripped over some drunk and fell flat on my face. It made a great story for the tabloids, and made an even bigger stink with my father. Everything is about image in the public eye, and I am just plain sick of it all. The idea of another four years is enough for me to run screaming for the hills.
“You got plans tonight?” Lynn asks as she tosses her napkin on her plate.
“Yeah, I have a dinner thing for work I have to attend. We’re trying to win over another new client.”
She makes a sour face. “Sounds…fun.” Lucky for Lynn, she works her own hours as an artist in her own studio, while I work for a big marketing corporation. Even though I worked my butt off in school for years, I still feel like they use me for my connection to the mayor to gain clients.
When my mother passed away thirteen years ago after a long battle with cancer, I was mentally and physically exhausted. I changed my last name to her maiden name when my father got more involved in politics. I didn’t want people knowing who I was right off the bat. My father didn’t understand at first, but now I’m sure he’s fine with it. I just needed time and privacy to get on with my life and to get over my grief.
Later that evening, I find myself lost in thought instead of paying attention to the conversation around me. Here I am at another fancy dinner with beyond boring executives, who are talking about nothing remotely interesting. They hardly engage me in conversation and never ask for my opinion. I sit there and try not to show what I’m thinking. Like how Mr. Roth’s tie keeps dipping into his soup, and how his wife pretends not to notice. She keeps trying to hide her smirk—I take it they don’t get along very well at home. At least this is a tad amusing. I shift my gaze out the window to Central Park. Oh, what I wouldn’t give to go for a run through the snowy paths right about now.
“Wherever you are, can I join you?” Joe Might asks, leaning over so only I can hear him.
“I’m sorry?”
He smiles. “You look like you were off somewhere else.”