Sex, Lies & Serious Money

27

Laurence and Theresa followed the directions they had been given to the Eagle house, in the hills above Tesuque. A large stone eagle greeted them at the gate, wings outspread, and the house was of a contemporary style, but inviting.

Ed Eagle greeted them and played bartender, and Stone and Gala arrived soon after. They sat down with their drinks.

“We had an incident last night,” Laurence said.

“What sort of incident?” Ed asked.

Laurence told them about the new flash security lights.

“That sounds like a good idea,” Stone said. “But what happened last night?”

“Yes,” Theresa said, “I’d like to hear about that, too.”

“I thought I’d keep it until we were here, then I wouldn’t have to repeat myself.”

“Well, go ahead.”

“We were getting ready for bed. Theresa was in the shower, and one of the lights went off outside. I ran downstairs,” he said, skipping the part about the gun, which neither Theresa nor Stone knew about, “and out into the piñons. I rousted somebody, apparently, and I could hear footsteps running and him brushing against the trees. He got to the road and ran for a short distance, then I heard a car start and got a glimpse of it as it reversed around a bend in the road. Then its lights came on and I heard it drive away in a hurry.”

“Did you see the man?” Ed asked.

“Only his back. He was smallish.”

“Did you see the car?” Stone asked.

“For a second or two. It was something small, like a Mini, I think.”

“That sounds like the car I saw parked near your gate the night we came over,” Stone said. “Must be the same guy.”

“And he’s not behaving like a burglar,” Ed said. “A burglar would be in the house as soon as you left.”

“We didn’t leave last night, and our new security system is up and running.”

Theresa spoke up. “I had the feeling — just a feeling — that there was someone in the trees outside the kitchen when we went down for breakfast.” She thought about that. “I hope I was wrong, because neither of us was wearing much.”

“Neither of us was wearing anything at all,” Laurence pointed out, and everyone laughed.

“They wouldn’t publish that...” Theresa began.

“They almost certainly would,” Stone said.

“Oops.”

“Maybe I should just invite them to the house,” Laurence said. “Although I wouldn’t know whom to invite.”

“Just get a copy of everything at the supermarket checkout and call the editors,” Susannah said. “If you want to go down that road.”

“The other night you said I should ignore them.”

“Two ways to go, mutually exclusive.”

“Once they took some pictures and asked some questions, wouldn’t they go away?” Laurence asked.

“That’s a toss-up,” Susannah said. “Could go either way. They might leave you alone, but I wouldn’t count on it.”

“Perhaps you should hire a publicist,” Stone said.

“What for?”

“If you want to get your picture in the papers, you hire a publicist,” Susannah said. “If you want to keep your picture out of the papers, you hire a publicist.”

“That doesn’t make any sense,” Laurence said.

“I’m afraid it does,” Stone interjected. “A publicist becomes a buffer between you and the media. He or she will know the bad ones and the fairly good ones, and can play them off against each other. They’ll know that their best chance of cooperation is through a professional, which is what they think of themselves.”

“I don’t know any publicists, and I don’t know how to find one.”

“There are, basically, two kinds,” Stone said. “L.A. and New York. You don’t really need both unless you’re a married movie star who is sleeping with the nanny. There’s a woman in New York, Faith Mackey. I can introduce you to her.”

“What does someone like that cost?”

“You can afford it,” Stone said. “If it doesn’t work out, you can fire her.”

“Maybe that’s what I should do, hire her,” Laurence said. “Theresa, what do you think?”

“I think it can’t hurt, and it might help.”

“All right.”

“I’ll have Faith call you tomorrow,” Stone said. “I warn you, she can suck all the oxygen out of a room, but she’s very good at what she does.”

“I’ll look forward to speaking with her,” Laurence said.

The following day Laurence and Theresa were having lunch on the terrace when Laurence’s cell phone rang. A glance told him the call was a 917 area code, New York. “Hello?”

“Laurence? This is Faith Mackey.”

“How do you do?”

“I do very well, thank you. I’m on the road from Albuquerque, about half an hour south of Santa Fe. What’s your address?”

“One seventy-eight Tano Norte.”

“Just a sec. Got you on Google Maps. Be there in forty-two minutes.” She hung up.

“Who was that?” Theresa asked.

“Faith Mackey, Stone’s publicist lady.”

“Why did she hang up?”

“She’s south of here, says she’ll be here in forty-two minutes.”

“What’s she doing in Santa Fe?”

“I have no idea.”

Faith Mackey was small and wiry, with short blond hair, somewhere in the mid-range between forty and sixty; she’d had some work done. When Laurence answered the door she shook his hand and talked quickly. He introduced her to Theresa. “Okay, L-a-u-r-e-n-c-e, am I spelling it right?”

“Yes.”

“I pretty much know your story, but tell it to me in your own words in three minutes, so I can fill in the chinks.”

“Chinks?”

“The empty places in your story.” She beckoned with both hands. “Let’s have it, we’re short of time.”

Laurence started from the beginning and talked as fast as he could.

“Great, stop. Got it. Have you got booze in the house?”

“Of course, would you like a drink?”

“No, you’re giving a little cocktail party at five o’clock, maybe a dozen, fifteen people.”

“Do I make canapés?” Theresa asked.

“Yeah, it’s not enough people for a caterer. Cheese and crackers are okay, anything else you’ve got on hand.” She looked around. “That’s a relief.”

“What’s a relief?” Laurence asked.

“It’s nice — I won’t have to stage it. Maybe I’ll move a couple things around. Dress casual, a little on the Western side, if you’ve got it.”

“I have a fringed skirt and some boots I bought yesterday,” Theresa said.

“Perfect.”

“Everything I’ve got is Ralph Lauren,” Laurence said.

“Ah, yes, courtesy of Miss Theresa, your personal shopper.”

“Former personal shopper,” Theresa said. “I resigned yesterday.”

“I’m a former English schoolmaster,” Laurence said. “I resigned, too.”

“I don’t blame you. You won, what? Six hundred million?”

“And change. Would you like some lunch?”

“I’ve got a sandwich in my purse. Where can I eat?”