AllFreeNovel
Share Us
I rolled my cart to the front of the store and paid for my doggie entertainment. Actually, I couldn’t wait to see Charley. My tendency was to catalog the shocking changes and annoyances caused by one ten-month-old creature but his ecstatic greeting at the door after a long day made it all worth it.
Irving had me wait inside the store until the car pulled up in front of the pet store—yet another reminder of my short chain. That afternoon was a bright, gorgeous early fall day but I was hustled into the SUV like a hailstorm was about to start in mid-winter.
The driver, Abe, turned around to glance at me, his eyebrows drawn together. One of his hands was cupped overthe earpiece of his headset. “Got it,” he said into the mouthpiece.
“Let’s go,” said Irving.
“What’s going on?” I asked, glaring at them.
“There’s a situation at your house.” Irving cleared his throat. “We didn’t realize that you’re, um, a bit of a celebrity.”
I closed my eyes and fell sideways on the back seat. “Come on now, spit it out. How bad is it?”
“National media, and paparazzi, are at the entrance to your property.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Iwas shocked that I was any kind of big whoop to anybody. Apparently, a trophy wife whacking her husband then running from terrorists who blew up her parents’ house was reader bait.
With no sidewalk or official parking along the side of the narrow road in front of my house, the four cars belonging to media people were parked on the thin strip of grassy verge below the now completed gate. They jumped out of their compacts and sedans and ran up to our SUV as we pulled up, shouting questions and snapping pictures. I stared at them with my mouth open, behind the blacked out rear windows.
“Sally! Will you make a statement? Were you attacked here by the fugitive terrorist, Keith Miller, last Sunday?”
“Sally, is the MacCullen family trying to kill you for assassinating their son?”
“Are you on a sex spree to the highest bidder? Have your parents disowned you?”
The gate opened and we drove up the driveway, leaving them behind. Still, Irving insisted on parking in the garage before I stepped out of the car.
“What the hell should I do?” I asked Tyrese, too loudly, as I jumped out and he waited at the garage entrance to the house.
He stared at me with his arms crossed. “Come inside.”
“Fine.” My pulse was hammering away. I texted Amber to tell her about the media and offered to send a car to pick her up, if she still wanted to come over.
When I opened the garage door into the house, Charley was there waiting for me, tail wagging like it might fly off, with happy growly huffs and whines. The corners of my mouth turned up. “You’re about the best friend a stalked involuntary porn celebrity could ask for. Stay down.”
I went into the kitchen and poured myself a glass of wine, exchanging a tense glance with Antonio. After grabbing a bone for Charley, I followed Tyrese into the office.
“Your story,” Tyrese said, “is getting a lot of attention, from all kinds of quarters.” He sat in the office chair.
I collapsed onto the little futon I’d let Charley take over. “Should I make a statement? Post on social media?”
Tyrese nodded. “Talk it over with your lawyer—maybe hire a PR person. It isn’t all bad. From my perspective, they’re extra eyes on the gate.”
Charley jumped up onto the futon next to me, bone in his mouth, and cuddled against my side. I swallowed wine. “When will they leave me alone?”
Lips pursed, Tyrese cocked his head at me. “You’re a polarizing figure right now, both loved and hated. The terrorist cell in Arizona targeting Dems in Texas was big news, talked about everywhere. You turned it sensational with the leaked sex tape, your suddenly acquired wealth, photos of you in your bikini, the attack on your parents’ home, and then your disappearance—not quite long enough ago.”
I put my head in my hands. “There’s so much other stuff going on though.”
He cleared his throat. “You may not realize this but there are, uh, newly formed groups intensely interested in you—based around the sex tape. At first it was all negative, but now there are counter groups that call themselves ‘Sally Slaves.’ They have perhaps fetishized you. As a security risk, I keep tabs on them.”
My head collapsed against the back of the futon. “Sally Slaves?”
“Also,” he continued, relentlessly, “one of your, um, recent lovers has put himself forward as your boyfriend and is angry that anyone would say anything bad about you.”
“Javier?” I finished my wine.
