He napkined his mouth, simultaneously looking at his watch, late for a meeting at the studio. “Yes, yes, of course. It’s that guy you hate, whatsisname?”
“Benedetti. Gino Benedetti. Those people pay people, Arnold, clerks at the hotels, people who arrange celebrity travel schedules, even servants in our homes.”
“I know all that. What are you getting at, honey? I’m late for a meeting.”
“The new butler you hired. The nodding, silent suckup Tanner?”
“This Benedetti paid him? You know this for a fact?”
“No. But if Benedetti was going to make a deal with anyone in this household I’d say Tanner would be his conspirator of choice.”
That afternoon, she decided to stay away from the pool, which was just fine with Toby because he would not be subjected to her private torture regime: swimming lessons. He could play his video games with his omnipresent Cokes and potato chips. She swore he and his father were prime candidates someday for a gastric bypass.
In the study, Megan had picked up the phone to call her agent when she was surprised to see Tanner in the doorway. He was no longer in his servant’s coat and dark trousers. Now he wore a double-breasted suit and respectful tie. His face was pained, as if he had just been forced to go on a castor-oil regimen.
“I’m sorry to disturb you, madam. But I wanted to say goodbye.”
“Goodbye? Where are you going, Tanner?”
He stood more spine-erect than usual, like a recalcitrant schoolboy in front of the principal. “I was telephonically dismissed this morning.”
“By my husband?” She was more surprised than angry.
“Yes, madam. He questioned me about a gentleman I have never heard of, I believe Benedetti is the name. He intimated that I had taken a photograph of you, ma’am, in dishabille, and sold it to Mr. Benedetti. I told your husband I had no knowledge of the incident he was referring to. But he is very generously releasing me with three months’ remuneration.”
She had totally misjudged Tanner. He was obviously a gentleman of the Old School, a class that had been dismissed years back. What she had condemned as obsequiousness was merely a form of respectful politeness. His silence was just that — he did not chatter or volunteer an opinion, waiting until his master gave him an order. God, it was almost comical — how had she missed it? — he was a living stereotype, the perfect movie butler!
Megan rose from her chair. “Tanner,” she said, her tone graver than she wanted, “this has been some kind of terrible mistake. I don’t want you to leave. I promise you I will clear everything up with my husband.”
“Yes, madam.” The smile was a man sucking on a lemon. “With your permission I will return to my duties.”
He left, and she just stood there, dealing with the breadth and depth of her ignorance.
Later, she drove her Jaguar around to the back of the property: There was only one high tree, an ancient elm, that stood outside the high stucco wall that protected their pool. If someone climbed it they would have a perfect view of the pool and the perfect angle to get the shot of her emerging from the water. But as she carefully inspected the tree, she couldn’t find any evidence on the bark that anyone had ever climbed up. An old tree, but still a virgin.
Driving back to the house, she was convinced that it was an “outside job,” as the cops say in the heist movies. If not the elm, where could someone have been positioned to get the “money shot”?
When she returned to the house, Tanner was waiting for her at the door, announcing that her friend Mrs. Kitridge was in the study.
Puzzled, she went to the study, wondering why Sue Kitridge was paying her an unannounced visit. They had talked on the phone that morning and Sue hadn’t mentioned anything about getting together.
Sue was Megan’s age, blond, intelligent, unassuming; a good friend and a decent person. She had nothing to do with the business, which downgraded her as a “civilian” in Hollywood parlance. Her son Alec was one of Toby’s schoolmates.
“Can I get you something?” Megan asked. “Coffee, some tea?”
For a neat, well-groomed person, Sue looked a bit disheveled today. Megan wondered if it was something about the photo, but they had discussed that ad infinitum this morning on the phone.
Sue removed a snapshot from her handbag and wordlessly handed it to her. At first she thought it was the now infamous picture, but she quickly realized it was different: This one revealed her breasts and her privates.
“Sue,” she stammered, “where—?”
“I caught Alec with it. I can guarantee you he’s going to be severely punished.”
“But where—?”
“Toby. He’s been selling them in school. This is a terrible thing to tell you, but you know we’re such good friends, so — so I thought it was something you’d want to know.”
Megan nodded, still peering at the photo. In a way she was relieved — she no longer had to build her stupid sand castles on suspicions of butlers and elm trees.
“Where could Toby have gotten it?” Sue asked.
“I don’t know,” she lied. “But rest assured, I’m going to find out.”
She reached over and grabbed Sue’s hands. “You’re a dear, dear friend and you mustn’t feel you’ve hurt me.”
Sue smiled faintly, her hands squeezing Megan’s in return.
While Toby was snacking before dinner in the kitchen, Megan made a quick search of his room. She found a digital camera, but it was a different model than Samantha’s gift. Didn’t matter: The once murky waters were clearing, and another, more sinister picture was slowly coming up in the developing tray.
Toby had coveted his friend’s camera and “Santa,” observing that at the brunch, had seized on the opening. Get a juicy photo of Stepmom and there was money for Toby. He probably even gave him a free digital to do the dirty work, which must have maximized the boy’s incentive. Benedetti had probably scoped out the house and seen the inviting elm, but why use that when he had an accomplice now in the very heart, if not the breast, of the victim?
Megan changed into her bikini and went down to the kitchen, collared her stepson. “Swimming lesson, young man. Let’s go.”
“Do I have to?” The classic plea of the parent-oppressed child.
“Yes, you have to. I promise it’ll be a very short but important lesson today. And don’t turn on your rap.”
She tried to relax on the chaise lounge, knowing he was purposely keeping her waiting while he changed into his swimming trunks. Finally he came out into the darkening afternoon, the lengthening shadows on the bright tiles. She knew he was picking up on something hostile in her gaze.
She dove into the pool, gesturing him to follow. Once he was in the water with her she knew he would be more vulnerable to what she had to say.
“Okay, make it fast,” he said, once he was treading water next to her. “What do we do first?”
“We tell the truth. You admit you took those photos of me and gave one to Gino Benedetti.”
He didn’t answer, tried to paddle away, but she grabbed him by a slippery arm. He turned his head, but wouldn’t face her.
“Admit it, Toby. If not now, then tonight, when I accuse you in front of your father.”
Now the boy’s head swiveled defiantly to look at her. He laughed. “Dad? He’d never believe you. He said you’re just a gold-digging bitch who married him for his money and his power to make you a big-deal movie star. And you cheat with other guys. Get lost, Megan.”
For a moment her words wouldn’t come. Then: “Your father loves me. He would never say hurtful things like that.”
“He did! He said he never should’ve divorced Mom. Biggest mistake of his life. So don’t go tell him your lies. I never took any pictures of you. And the one I told you Scott saw?” Laughing, having the time of his life now: “He said you’re just an anorexic bitch, old lady floppy jugs, a real turnoff—”