“I have to go.”
“No, wait!” I beg. “Chace, they—they’re trying to make it seem like I did it. Please don’t leave me.”
But his image is already fading in front of me.
“If anyone can uncover the truth, it’s you. Remember the days of you and me. The answer is there, I can feel it.”
And with that, he vanishes before my eyes, leaving me to wonder, through tears, if I imagined the whole thing.
OCTOBER 26, 2016
My new life of security guards and lawyers begins the next morning, with my mother showing up at my door. I’ve never been so relieved to see her, and as I fling myself into her arms, I don’t even notice the strangers.
“Oh, sweetie,” she murmurs, smoothing back my unkempt hair and taking in my appearance. My pale skin and undereye circles from lack of sleep only enhance my scar, making me look even more frightening than usual. If Mrs. Rivera and the police are trying to turn me into the villain, I certainly look the part.
“What are you doing here?” I ask my mom, pulling her through the doorway. “I didn’t know you were coming—”
My eyes lock on a burly man posted by my door, wearing a bored expression and a SECURITY badge. So this must be who Detective Kimble and Officer Ladge were talking about yesterday. He seems effective enough already—yesterday’s gaggle of girls are now gone.
But he’s not the only stranger. Another man, this one much more polished and wearing a suit and tie, follows my mom into the room uninvited.
“ ’Scuse me, who are you?” I ask, giving Mom a bewildered look.
“Sorry, honey, I should have introduced you.” She steps between me and the suited man. “This is attorney John Sanford. I know him from the office, and he’s agreed to represent you pro bono, thank God for his kindness.”
A chill runs through me.
“A lawyer? Already? I’m not in trouble.” Yet.
John Sanford steps forward, shaking my hand.
“At this point, since you’re a person of interest in the Chace Porter case, I’m afraid you need legal counsel immediately. I understand you’ve already spoken to the police?”
I nod.
“They searched my room, too.” At the look of alarm on my mother’s and the lawyer’s faces, I quickly add, “They had a warrant.”
Mr. Sanford rubs his chin, thinking.
“What time is your first class, Nicole?”
“It’s at eight-thirty, but…am I really going?” The idea of sitting in a classroom seems ludicrous at a time like this.
“You have a Juilliard scholarship to maintain,” Mom warns me. “You can’t afford to let anything throw you off your game. Not even this.”
After my visit—or vision—from Chace last night, everything else pales in comparison. Juilliard, my music, all my old dreams feel like they belong to someone else. Is there even a point to it all anymore?
As if she can read my thoughts, Mom grabs my shoulders, gazing into my eyes.
“Nicole, this is what you love, what you breathe. You’ve been working all these years to get here. One day, impossible as it may seem right now, you will recover from all that’s happening, but you may never get over the regret if you choose to let your dream slip through your fingers. Trust me on this. I had to struggle my way through adulthood, but you don’t. Not with a talent like yours.”
My eyes find my violin case across the room, and the pang in my chest confirms my mother’s words. Of course she’s right. The world can take nearly everything away from me—my face, my friends, my love—but as long as I have my music, I have something worth living and fighting for. I have a purpose.
“Okay,” I finally reply. “I’ll go to my classes. But it’s not going to be pretty.”
Mom squeezes my hand.
“I’m proud of you, honey. We’ll get through this together.”
“Your mother is right. And the more normal your day-to-day life can be, the less suspicious things will look,” Mr. Sanford adds.
My cheeks burn.
“There’s nothing suspicious going on.”
“I understand. But when you’re hiding out in your dorm and skipping classes, it could look like you have something to hide,” he says pointedly. “Now, I suggest the three of us get out of these tight quarters and find a place to get breakfast before your first class. You can fill me in on your conversations with the police there.”
“I should probably tell you something before we go.” I swallow hard. “Chace’s parents asked Detective Kimble to arrange a meeting with me today. I’m supposed to meet them after my classes are over.”
Mom and Mr. Sanford exchange a worried look.
“Right. Well, there’s no way you’re doing that alone,” Mr. Sanford says.
“What if they just want to meet the girl who was…who meant something to their son?” I ask hopefully, though after what I overheard last night, I’m not so sure. “Wouldn’t it look weird for me to bring a chaperone if that’s all it is?”
He gives me a grim smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.
“Nicole, I’m afraid from here on out, you’re going to have to assume that no one’s intentions are that innocent. The congressman and his wife are grieving parents who need someone to blame. You can’t be too careful.”
Nicole, Stephanie, and I stretch our legs across the leather banquettes on the mezzanine landing of my family’s DC town house, watching the preparations taking place in the foyer below for tonight’s New Year’s Eve party. Uniformed men are rolling up carpets, pushing back furniture, and assembling round tables and banquet chairs, while a small army of florists darts around in different directions, arranging table centerpieces and draping garlands from the twin Baccarat chandeliers dangling from the ceiling.
I’ve always relished these frenzied hours before a party kickoff, from the hustle and bustle of the staff downstairs, to the cool elegance of my mom applying her makeup in a cloud of perfume up in the master suite. The anticipation gets me every time, the promise of some sort of magic to come, as our house is transformed into a wonderland. And tonight, my excitement is more warranted than ever: Chace and his parents are coming to the party. The thought of my boyfriend here in the house where I grew up, looking movie-star gorgeous in his formal wear and dancing with me in front of all of DC’s high society, gives me a palpable thrill.
Our longtime housekeeper, Gabby, whose gray-streaked hair is beginning to show her age, approaches with a fruit and cheese platter.
“Here you go, girls.”
“Oh, thank God. I’m starving,” Stephanie says dramatically, breaking off a hunk of Gouda with her fingers. I can’t help making a face at Nicole. I love Steph and all, but the girl needs to learn how to use a cheese knife.
Nicole isn’t looking at me, though. She’s staring at Gabby, color filling her cheeks.
“What’s up?” I elbow her in the ribs.
“Did I ever tell you my mom worked as a housekeeper when I was little?” she blurts out, after Gabby steps away.
Stephanie’s eyebrows shoot up. I clear my throat.
“Uh, no. That must have been…” My voice trails off. What’s the appropriate response, anyway? God, that must have been weird! doesn’t exactly have the best ring to it.
Nicole shrugs.
“It’s not that big of a deal, I guess. She ended up going back to school and now she works in an office, but even if she hadn’t moved on, I know there’s obviously nothing wrong with being part of a household staff. It’s just…well, I never really pictured her in that role until now. The family she worked for had teenagers, too, and it just seems strange, the idea of her waiting on kids our age when she had a little girl at home.” She glances at me. “Does your housekeeper have children?”
I don’t think I’ve ever exchanged this many words about Gabby in my life. What is Nicole getting at? Stephanie lets out a yawn, clearly bored with this conversation.
“Um, I don’t know,” I answer. “Maybe?”
&
nbsp; A crash sounds from downstairs. The three of us turn to look over the railing, where the head florist is cursing out one of her underlings, who frantically sweeps up shards of a dropped vase.
Nicole looks away, cringing. I suddenly see this whole scene from her point of view, and the glamour of it all is replaced with…something else. But why should I feel guilty or have to apologize for the pomp and luxury that surrounds me? My parents earned this. Maybe Nicole sees her mom’s face when she looks at Gabby or the staff downstairs, but that’s her problem. Not mine. Right?
“I’ll be right back,” I tell the girls, getting up from the leather seat. I need to restore my balance, and watching my mom beautify herself, in her cloud of Chanel No. 5 should do just the trick.
My parents’ master bedroom is practically the same size as the Oyster Bay football field. As a little girl I managed to get lost in it once or twice, but now there’s something comforting about the airy space, with its sleek slate-and-cream furniture, weird modern art, and Baccarat crystal adorning every shelf.
I find my mom in the adjoining marble-floored bathroom, perched on a director’s chair and jabbing at her phone while Pierre, the family hairdresser, blows out her silky dark strands. She looks up at the sound of my approach and smiles into the mirror.
“There you are, mija. I thought maybe you’d grown out of watching the regimen this year.”
“Nope.” I pause to air-kiss Pierre before settling into the love seat next to Mom’s vanity table. “What dress did you choose?”
“The red McQueen,” she replies. “Which calls for a red lip, of course. Why don’t you wear your Christmas present, the silver Balmain? So our colors will complement each other.”
“Perfect,” I agree, tucking my legs underneath me while watching Pierre’s wizardry with the blow dryer.
Sometimes it feels like these are the only times I can relax around my mother. Up here, surrounded by hair tools and makeup and fabric swatches, I can pretend that we’re much more similar. I can forget, even if only for a few moments, how terrifyingly serious and whip-smart she is—and how neither of those traits passed down to me.
“Pierre, do you have time to do the girls’ hair when you’re done with mine?” she asks now.
“Really?” I sit up straighter. Mom has only lent her hairdresser to me once, on the occasion of my sweet sixteen.
“Certainly I have time, madame,” Pierre replies.
“That Nicole could certainly use your help,” Mom says with a chuckle, patting Pierre’s hand.
“But please don’t do anything too drastic,” I tell him. “I don’t want to be the clichéd popular girl who gives her nerdy friend a makeover. We’ve only seen that in a million movies.”
He nods in agreement.
“As you wish. No cliché hair here.”
A few minutes later Pierre finishes my mom’s style, giving her glossy waves that fall over her shoulder, a flawless contrast to her usual tight updos at the Capitol.
“It looks perfect, Pierre,” she says, giving the mirror a satisfied smile. “Why don’t you start with Stephanie or Nicole downstairs so I can have a few minutes with Lana.”
Once we’re alone, she looks at me expectantly.
“So? How are things going with Chace? You haven’t told me much.”
My stomach flutters, as it’s been doing lately every time I hear his name.
“He’s…everything I wanted. He’s not only the most handsome guy I know, but on top of that he’s sweet and funny, and he understands me better than most people because his parents are so similar to you and Dad. And I can’t even tell you how good it feels to walk around school on his arm.”
“I’m so glad, mija. See?” She arches an eyebrow at me. “Mother does know best!”
“In this case, at least.” I laugh.
“Now, there’s something I need you to do for me. And it involves Chace.” She takes my hand, caressing it like she used to do when I was a little girl, her little doll. “It’s come to my attention that Congressman and Mrs. Porter share an unreported bank account—and they’ve been using it to funnel a couple hundred thousand dollars to a private address in Brooklyn. Have you heard Chace mention anything about people they know in Brooklyn?”
I stare at my mom, my stomach churning with nausea as it dawns on me what she’s saying. And here I thought she actually wanted a little mother-daughter bonding.
“No, he hasn’t said a thing. What are you doing, Mom? Why would you be digging into their private business, anyway?”
“I work for the president of the United States,” she counters. As if I actually need reminding. “If I discover something fishy involving someone on our council, it’s my job to look into it and make sure the president is protected.”
I give my mom a sideways glance. I’m pretty sure she just inflated her job description.
“I thought you’re supposed to serve New York constituents. What does that have to do with filling the president in on the Porters’ finances?”
“I don’t like your tone, Lana,” she says warningly.
“And I don’t like what you’re asking of me!” I retort. “I thought you wanted us together.”
“I simply want to make sure the Porters are who they say they are. That’s all.” Mom purses her lips. “Especially with their son dating my only daughter.”
“Again, what you wanted,” I snap. “And I’m actually happy, so please don’t screw this up for me.”
Mom sighs.
“Enough with the dramatics, mija. I’ll leave you and Chace out of it. His parents are coming tonight, anyway. I suppose I can warn them privately that the information has gotten out and see what they say. They might have a reasonable explanation for it all.” She fixes her best politician smile on her face. “I’ll give them the benefit of the doubt.”
The three of us weave through the crowd of beautifully dressed guests, looking for a familiar face. It’s already ten p.m. and there’s still no sign of the Porters. I refuse to lose my cool in front of Stephanie and Nicole, but my anxiety bubbles under the surface. I don’t have any messages from him on my phone…is it possible he’s standing me up? Could my mom have managed to get to his parents and wreak her havoc already?
“Don’t worry, Lana,” Nicole murmurs into my ear. “He’ll be here.”
“Of course he will. I’m not worried.”
I flash her a confident smile, and for a second I’m taken aback by how more-than-decent she looks in her blue sleeveless dress paired with the silver Kate Spade cardigan I gave her for Christmas, identical to the one of mine she always complimented me on. Pierre kept his promise not to give her a teen-movie makeover, but with her sandy-blond hair blown out instead of in its usual mass of frizzy curls, she looks…good. Cute, even.
“Oh, there he is!” Stephanie points to the doorway. It takes all my willpower not to run straight into his arms, and instead wait coolly for him to come to me. He is achingly handsome in his suit, breaking into a grin as he meets my eyes across the throng.
“Hey, babe.” He sweeps me into his arms and kisses my cheek. Relief floods through me.
Chace turns to Nicole, and does a double take.
“Nicole. Hey.” He gives her a warm hug, and for a split second I wonder if I should be worried. But duh, that’s ridiculous. He greets Stephanie with a hug, too, and the four of us make our way to the patio.
“This is some crowd,” he remarks once we’re outside and able to hear each other.
“That’s my parents for you. Speaking of, where are yours?”
Chace glances down.
“There was a situation with my grandmother. They’re with her now.”
“Oh, I hope she’s okay.” I take his hand. “It’s so sweet of you to still come.”
He smiles at me.
“I wasn’t going to bail on you.”
“Aww, you guys are soo cuuuute,” Stephanie drawls, and Nicole giggles. I nuzzle closer to Chace.
The music pauses inside,
and I see my parents making their way to the staircase, drawing everyone’s attention in all their power-couple couture glory.
“Welcome, everyone, or as we say here at home, bienvenidos!” Dad raises his champagne flute to the crowd, and a chorus of clinking glasses follows. “Dinner is served!”
“Looks like I got here at the perfect time,” Chace remarks.
We follow the crowd to the buffet, where platters are heaped high with surf and turf, two different salads, and an array of sides. Just as we’re heading to one of the round tables decorating the foyer, Mom appears alongside our group. I feel myself stiffen.
“You must be Chace!” She extends a diamond-adorned hand to my boyfriend, who quickly turns to greet her.
“Thanks for having me, Congresswoman Rivera. My parents send their apologies. I was just telling Lana they had an incident come up with my grandmother that they had to take care of.”
Mom masks her disappointment well, but I feel a flicker of glee that she didn’t get her way this time. At least for one more night, she won’t be able to pry into the Porters’ business.
“Oh, that’s a shame,” Mom purrs. “I hope your grandmother’s all right. I’ll have to call and check in tomorrow.”
To my surprise, my mom then turns to Nicole.
“Nicole, dear, Lana tells me you’re quite the star violinist. What are the chances you’d play a little something for the crowd during dinner? We’re giving the deejay a break, and instrumental is more appropriate for dinner, anyway, don’t you think?”
Nicole’s cheeks flame red. I feel a surge of mortification.
“Mom, don’t you see her plate? We were just about to eat.”
“After you’re done, of course,” Mom says breezily.
“That’s okay,” Nicole says. “I get too nervous to eat before any sort of performance. I can just play something now, if you’d like.”
“You don’t have to,” Chace says to Nicole under his breath. I can tell he didn’t mean for us to hear, but my mom’s sharp expression lets me know that she did.
“It’s okay,” she murmurs to Chace. “They’ve been so nice to me.”
The Girl in the Picture Page 8
