Page 15 of Caper Crush
“There’s nowe,” I say. “Anyway, I’m going to go put on a costume.”
“Why?”
“If she recognizes me from the party and she stole the painting, she’s not going to reveal anything.”
“It’s a pity you changed out of your earlier costume. You could have gone as my mom again,” he says.
“We could discuss your dating life some more,” I say.
“Are you that interested in my dating life?” He leans forward.
I slant toward him. Two can play at this game. Our faces are close, across the glass table. His eyes are warm, and his thick hair definitely invites ruffling. “I’m more interested now that I’ve found out you carry around a handkerchief.”
He blushes and pulls back.
Shouldn’t play with fire.
I snort and disappear into Uncle Tony’s bedroom. His costume closet is a marvelous respite from real life. I pull out a wig and a makeup kit, changing myself into a brown-haired woman. Some dramatic eye makeup and some rouge add color to my pale cheeks, but I don’t have the energy or time to do a complete rehaul.
I walk back into the dining room. William’s eyes widen, and he shakes his head.
“What’s with you and disguises? This isn’t normal.”
“I’ve never pretended to be normal,” I say. “But it’s because of pictures of me in the press when my stepdad was running for mayor. After the first crying incident, I went out for a while in disguise. It was stupid, but I felt more in control.”
“What was the crying incident?” He closes down his laptop.
“When I was still in college, I was my stepfather’s rep at some panel of mothers with AIDS speaking about their journey, and I cried.The Squirrelran a picture of me, calling me Weeping Willow. My middle name is Willow. And then the press followed me for a while, trying to get more pictures of me crying. Which wasn’t hard. But I can’t help it. And I don’t want to get to the place where I’ve heard so many of those stories that they don’t make me cry anymore. I still don’t understand how the other people weren’t crying.”
“It’s good to express your emotions. And not that easy.” His glance meets mine.
“We were supposed to be the picture-perfect political family, and the press would inevitably get a picture of me red-eyed or blowing my nose after attending some event, like a panel with single moms or families talking about their moving out of a homeless shelter. But as his campaign manager finally said, at least it showed I have a heart.”
“I’ll have to get more handkerchiefs if we’re going to hang out.”
I stare at him, hand over my open mouth, and then laugh. “Don’t expect me to learn to iron.”
“Let’s go,” William says.
“Fine, we can go together.” I give him a sideways glance. He smiles at me. Takashi comes back into the room.
“Did the paparazzi follow you for long?” William asks.
“One reporter was obsessed. Also, I think the rival candidate paid some photographers to follow me. He was such a sleazeball. He had put his kids on the payroll at the state level, and it was some big scandal, so he was trying to deflect attention by going after me.”
“It backfired,” Takashi says. “People liked you.”
“It backfired in terms of John’s campaign, yes,” I say.
We tell Takashi that we are leaving and lock the door behind us. Takashi says he will talk to Ryan, his close friend who was at the party. He works in cybersecurity for the Department of Homeland Security.
I prop up the wall as we wait for the elevator. How is it still only early afternoon?
“Does the press still follow you?” William asks hesitantly. I can imagine that he would hate having the press following him.
“No, not lately.The Intelligencerran a note about my upcoming exhibition, but it was good press.”
“I thought any press was good press.”
