Genuine Lies

Julia,” Eve began. While she drummed the fingers of one hand on the desk, the others rubbed a small circle at her temple. “If I’ve appeared to make light of it, it’s because I’m infuriated that anyone would dare.”
    “I think you should reconsider calling the police.”
    “Public figures have very little privacy. Forty thousand dollars worth of knickknacks aren’t worth finding my face plastered all over supermarket tabloids. It’s much more interesting to find it there because I’ve had an affair with a thirty-year-old body builder.”
    Julia opened the drawer and took out a tape. “On this are your recollections of your marriage with Anthony Kincade. Someone might have dubbed it, Eve. Someone surely might leak the information to him.”
    “And?”
    “He frightens me. And it frightens me to think of what he might do to prevent this story from becoming public.”
    “Tony is my worry, Julia. There’s nothing he can do to hurt me, and nothing I would permit him to do to hurt you. Unconvinced?” She held up a finger, lifted her voice only slightly. “Nina, dear?”
    The door opened in less than ten seconds. “Yes, Eve?”
    “Take a letter, please. To Anthony Kincade—you’ll find his current address?”
    “Yes.” Nina flipped over a page on the clipboard and began scribbling in shorthand.
    “Dearest Tony.” She laced her fingers slowly, almost as if in prayer. The malice was back in her eyes. “I hope this finds you in the poorest of health. Just a quick, chatty note to let you know I’m progressing with the book by leaps and bounds. I know how interested you are in this project. You may be aware that several people are quite concerned about the content—so concerned that there have been hints and rumbles about trying to put a stop to it. Tony, you of all people should know how poorly I react to pressure. To save you any trouble, in case you’ve considered inducing some of your own, I’m writing to let you know that I’m seriously considering Oprah’s offer to come on her show and gossip my bio. If there’s any interference from your neighborhood, darling, I’ll snap up her offer, and titillate the audience with a couple of memoirs from our fascinating years together. I believe that little slice of prepromotion, on network television, might sell gobs of advance copies. As ever. Eve.” Smiling, Eve lifted a hand. “That should send the cocksucker into apoplexy.”
    Unsure whether she wanted to laugh or scream, Julia sat on the desk as well. “I admire your guts if not your strategy.”
    “Only because you don’t fully understand my strategy.” She squeezed Julia’s hand. “You will eventually. Now, take a hot bubble bath, drink some wine, let Paul talk you into bed. Believe me, the combination will work wonders for you.”
    Julia laughed, shook her head. “Maybe the first two.”
    Eve surprised them both by putting an arm around Julia’s shoulder. It was a gesture of comfort and support, and, undeniably, of affection. “My dear Jules—isn’t that what he calls you?—any woman can have the first two. Come to the house, tomorrow, ten o’clock. We’ll talk.”
    “Eve?” Nina interrupted. “You have your first wardrobe fitting for the miniseries tomorrow morning.”
    “Right. Check with Nina,” Eve said as she started for the door. “She knows my life better than I.”
    Nina waited until Eve glided out. “I know how upsettingthis must be. You’ve only to say the word and we can move you and Brandon into the main house.”
    “No, no, really. We’re fine here.”
    Nina’s slim brows knit with doubt. “If you change your mind, it can be done quickly and without fuss. In the meantime, is there anything I can do for you?”
    “No. I appreciate your offer, but to tell the truth, I feel better already.”
    “You call the house.” Nina reached out to take Julia’s hand. “If you’re uneasy during the night. If you just want someone to talk to.”
    “Thanks. I can’t feel uneasy knowing you’re there.”
    “Two minutes away,” Nina added, giving Julia’s fingers a final squeeze.
    Alone, Julia reorganized her tapes. It was a small gesture, and useless at that point, but it eased her mind. Picking up Eve’s empty brandy snifter, she started toward the kitchen. The aroma of cooking had her hesitating, sniffing the air, then continuing on. At the kitchen doorway she could only stare at the sight of Paul Winthrop slaving over a hot stove.
    “What are you