"Was that a joke?"
"Julia, we don't want to stop this," he said simply. "Do you have any idea how much more you're worth now?"
She stared at him. In that instant, Julia realized Candon Jeffries didn't believe in her message—or in her. Candon believed she appealed to a demographic that had high disposable incomes and a lot of Friday nights to stay home and read. As long as there were lonely women, Candon Jeffries was going to try to sell them happiness in a bottle. Julia felt nauseous, realizing that for five years, her face had been on the label.
"I never want to see you again," she whispered.
"But Julia ..."
Julia tried to retreat back into the safety of her hotel room, but the door was locked again. And she didn't even have the little plastic key. She turned and pushed past Candon, toward the elevators. When the doors parted she jumped in, and he followed. She jabbed the "L" button and watched as the lighted numbers descended while he quoted every valuable statistic in the publishing business. With every passing floor, he droned on. They'd had twenty talk-show requests, ten offers for couples books. Five new Julia James fan sites had popped up that day alone, each one proclaiming her a role model, an example, the new ideal.
Each one worshipping a lie. When the doors opened into the lobby, she wrapped her coat around herself, pulled on her mittens, and rushed for the doors and the street. She forgot about the stupid potential headlines and ran. Lights flashed.
Reporters yelled. "Julia, when's the big day?" "Julia, who's designing the dress?" "Julia, what's the next book going to be about?"
"Julia." This voice she knew. "I've got to talk to you."
"Lance!" a reporter cried. "Let's get a picture of you two together!"
Julia raised one hand above her head in an emphatic gesture. Irritation boiled over as she noticed her mitten-covered fingers and yelled, "I'm flipping you off!"
The mob thundered closer, and Julia was desperate for a cab, a quick escape.
Standing on Fifty-eighth Street, she could feel the cold wind through her wool coat as night began to fall on New York City. Then the flashes started, fast and bright. She couldn't see a thing. She swirled, lost inside the swarm of paparazzi, when a figure lurched between her and the predators. "Stop it!" Lance yelled. "Leave her alone."
Another flash came, closer, so bright that it made her eyes burn. An abandoned luggage cart sat on the sidewalk, and Julia took shelter behind it, but the photographers closed in, pinning her there with no escape. Desperate, she grabbed a makeup case from the luggage cart and swung it at the offending light. She heard a crash and a crunch like breaking glass. Feeling the rhythm, she swung again and again.
Chapter Six
WAY #44: Be a role model in your community.
It's important to have a strong sense of community. Charitable activities can be an outlet, in some cases even a calling, so i contact civic organizations and volunteer. Do something that interests you and makes your community a better place. After all, it's important for everyone to lead by example.
—from 101 Ways to Cheat at Solitaire St
" I am a good person," Julia said, half slurring her words, feeling them in her mouth like cotton candy, sticky and sweet I and evaporating by the second. "I go to church. I'm kind to children. Then one day it rains, and I let a strange man share my cab. The next day, I'm a felon."
The clock on the wall above them ticked, its sound ominous through the hollow police station. Beside her, Lance shifted.
"Hey! I wasn't the one throwing the Samsonite."
A tall man in a blue uniform came to stand before them then, his long shadow shielding Julia's face from the fluorescent glare of the lights above them. "Mr. and Mrs. Collins—" the officer began.
"That statement troubles me on so many levels," Julia said. "I am not married to this man. I am not engaged to this man. I cannot even stand the sight of this man."
The officer closed his file and said, "You sound married to me. Anyhow, seeing as this is more of a lovers' quarrel than a felony assault with a . . ." He consulted the file. "... piece of luggage, the injured parties aren't pressing charges. "We'll be with you in a bit to process the paperwork, and then you'll be free to leave." The officer walked away, and Julia glanced at the man beside her.
" Why are you smiling?" she wanted to know.
"That guy . . . well, everyone really, they think that you and I are . . . well, I know it's not true, but I'm flattered that they would think it could be."
What's that supposed to mean? Julia wondered-^She looked around for photographers or reporters, but everyone else in the room was busy with the troubles of their own lives—no one seemed to be paying attention to hers. No one except Lance.
Julia studied him, then asked, "That was a compliment, wasn't it?"
"Not a compliment," Lance said. "Just a statement of fact."
Julia put her hands under her thighs and swung her legs like she and Caroline used to do when they were girls. She felt little again, not young but small, sitting on this very tall, very uncomfortable bench. She wondered if this was how it felt to get sent to the principal's office, to wait side by side with the eighth-grade bully. But Lance wasn't a bully. And this whole thing wasn't his fault. It was time to tell him so.