would include Wilson as well as the kid with blood running from his nose. The camera also captured Ben Angel and the bevy of inebriated guests who had finally gained enough courage to totter close.
A policeman ordered everyone to back off, but they were slow to react.
Charmain’s sharp eyes singled out Celina. “Oh, my dear girl,” she said, throwing her arms around Celina, who had no relationship whatsoever with the woman. “What a terrible day you have had. Listen, I’ve been trying to reach you. Ι want to do my best to help as much as I can. These will be difficult times. You’ll have to deal with all the unpleasant rumors—”
“Good to see you here, Charmain,” Wilson said. “How about some champagne?”
“Thanks,” she said, and turned back to Celina. “People can be so nasty, dear. Are you staying on in Royal Street?” Mesmerized, Celina nodded.
“Good. I shall come over and we’ll have a girl-to-girl chat and I’ll help you plan your counter offense.”
“Counter offense?” Celina frowned. “To what?”
“The people who will want to undermine Dreams because of all the talk about Errol, of course. Aren’t you...oh, you don’t plan to keep things going. I should have thought of that. After all, you were just the Dreams Girl, not the foundation itself. Errol Petrie was the foundation, and he was well loved. It would be a pity if everything he did came to mean nothing because of what they’ll say about him. But we should still talk.”
More camera flashes popped, and reporters yelled questions. Celina noted that the police didn’t seem at all annoyed at their presence, which lent credence to suggestions that the first item on the police dispatchers’ list was to inform the media of anything interesting going down.
The boy sat up and hung his head forward while a policeman read him his rights.
Charmain slipped an arm beneath one of Celina’s and said in a confidential tone, “Is it true that Jack Charbonnet helped fund Errol Petrie?”
“They were very close friends.” Celina knew she was out of her depth with this, and the less she said the better.
“But Errol had money problems because of some, well, isn’t it true that his wife left him because of certain differences of opinion about the kind of entertainment he preferred?”
Celina pressed her lips together and squelched her temper. “Errol Petrie’s son died of an autoimmune disorder. That cost ...” She was playing into this woman’s hands. Smiling wasn’t easy, but she managed. “I’m sorry. You’re trying to help me with my job and I’m just too upset to know what to do or say at the moment. I must ask you to forgive me. Perhaps we can talk later.” Much later. Like never.
“It’s nice you’ve got Jack Charbonnet’s shoulder to cry on now.” Charmain raised dark eyebrows, and her oddly light eyes shone conspiratorially. “And what a shoulder, my dear. That’s a coup no other woman has pulled off since his wife killed herself. Drove into a swamp. Drowned in there. Horrible story.”
Suicide? Celina couldn’t stop herself from registering distress, which she instantly realized would let Charmain know she’d delivered some news.
“Here’s your champagne. Charmain darlin’,” Wilson said, insinuating himself between Celina and the columnist. “We’ve had quite the fund-raiser here this evening. Anyone you may have been wanting to interview is undoubtedly here. Why not let me introduce you to a few people.”
Charmain looked at him, and her eyes became old and knowing. “How’s the campaign, Wilson?” Before he could respond, she said, “I’d better see what we have going on by your pool. Amazing how it’s not safe to go to a party at the home of someone like Wilson Lamar.”
“I hope you don’t intend to print that,” Wilson said with one of his most boyish smiles. “When I’m in the Senate I’m going to make crime in this country one of my priorities. And I’m not going to be one
A policeman ordered everyone to back off, but they were slow to react.
Charmain’s sharp eyes singled out Celina. “Oh, my dear girl,” she said, throwing her arms around Celina, who had no relationship whatsoever with the woman. “What a terrible day you have had. Listen, I’ve been trying to reach you. Ι want to do my best to help as much as I can. These will be difficult times. You’ll have to deal with all the unpleasant rumors—”
“Good to see you here, Charmain,” Wilson said. “How about some champagne?”
“Thanks,” she said, and turned back to Celina. “People can be so nasty, dear. Are you staying on in Royal Street?” Mesmerized, Celina nodded.
“Good. I shall come over and we’ll have a girl-to-girl chat and I’ll help you plan your counter offense.”
“Counter offense?” Celina frowned. “To what?”
“The people who will want to undermine Dreams because of all the talk about Errol, of course. Aren’t you...oh, you don’t plan to keep things going. I should have thought of that. After all, you were just the Dreams Girl, not the foundation itself. Errol Petrie was the foundation, and he was well loved. It would be a pity if everything he did came to mean nothing because of what they’ll say about him. But we should still talk.”
More camera flashes popped, and reporters yelled questions. Celina noted that the police didn’t seem at all annoyed at their presence, which lent credence to suggestions that the first item on the police dispatchers’ list was to inform the media of anything interesting going down.
The boy sat up and hung his head forward while a policeman read him his rights.
Charmain slipped an arm beneath one of Celina’s and said in a confidential tone, “Is it true that Jack Charbonnet helped fund Errol Petrie?”
“They were very close friends.” Celina knew she was out of her depth with this, and the less she said the better.
“But Errol had money problems because of some, well, isn’t it true that his wife left him because of certain differences of opinion about the kind of entertainment he preferred?”
Celina pressed her lips together and squelched her temper. “Errol Petrie’s son died of an autoimmune disorder. That cost ...” She was playing into this woman’s hands. Smiling wasn’t easy, but she managed. “I’m sorry. You’re trying to help me with my job and I’m just too upset to know what to do or say at the moment. I must ask you to forgive me. Perhaps we can talk later.” Much later. Like never.
“It’s nice you’ve got Jack Charbonnet’s shoulder to cry on now.” Charmain raised dark eyebrows, and her oddly light eyes shone conspiratorially. “And what a shoulder, my dear. That’s a coup no other woman has pulled off since his wife killed herself. Drove into a swamp. Drowned in there. Horrible story.”
Suicide? Celina couldn’t stop herself from registering distress, which she instantly realized would let Charmain know she’d delivered some news.
“Here’s your champagne. Charmain darlin’,” Wilson said, insinuating himself between Celina and the columnist. “We’ve had quite the fund-raiser here this evening. Anyone you may have been wanting to interview is undoubtedly here. Why not let me introduce you to a few people.”
Charmain looked at him, and her eyes became old and knowing. “How’s the campaign, Wilson?” Before he could respond, she said, “I’d better see what we have going on by your pool. Amazing how it’s not safe to go to a party at the home of someone like Wilson Lamar.”
“I hope you don’t intend to print that,” Wilson said with one of his most boyish smiles. “When I’m in the Senate I’m going to make crime in this country one of my priorities. And I’m not going to be one