I was about to die of embarrassment. “Yes, that’s the alibi! But if you can pry your eyes off your phone, you might like to know that Pete left his hidden camera running after we fell asleep, and it shows me getting out of bed for an hour or so right at the time that …”
That stopped Joel in his tracks. The animal sounds were still coming from the phone, but he wasn’t watching them. He was looking at me in shock.
“What, they thinkyou…” he rasped.
I sat on my trembling hands. “I don’t know – one of them probably does, but they don’t have any real evidence. I told them that I’d spent that hour embracing the toilet bowl. Why did Pete lie in the first place? And why did he decide he needed to give the police this footage? And how the fuck did it get onto Twitter?”
“Did you say, ‘hidden camera’?” Joel asked. I nodded, wishing the video would just finish.
The sounds stopped. I turned to look, finding Joel’s phone screen blank, his knuckles white as he gripped it.
“You didn’t know he was filming.”
“Nope,” I replied.
“Fuck. Pete Levine, what a fucking piece of shit.” Joel’s voice was dark.
“Yep.”
And then I had another horrible thought. If the video wasalready on Twitter, then it wouldn’t be long before the whole world knew about it. And when that happened my hopes of finding another sponsor would fly out the window.
“So long, Martel,” I muttered.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Funeral Photography
Joel and Sandra were talking quietly to each other in my living room while I struggled into a black pencil skirt. I grimaced at the thought of how sweaty my thighs would be on a day that was threatening to top forty-five.
I teamed the skirt with a dressy, deep blue blouse, and a pair of black flats.
I’d deliberately worn no makeup so I wouldn’t leave panda eyes and tear tracks all over my face. I brushed my hair and tugged it back into a low ponytail.
I really didn’t want to leave the house today. I really didn’t want to leave the house ever again.
If it wasn’t for the security Sandra still had posted at their gate, I’d have been hounded every time I set foot outside their house. I’d turned off the voicemail feature on my phone, and only answered calls from friends and family. I’d made the mistake of answering unknown numbers a few times.
They all wanted the same thing: what did I have to say for myself in the wake of the Black-Levine sex-tape scandal?
My answer?“No comment.”
What I really wanted to say?“Leave me the fuck alone!”
I dawdled out to the lounge room. Sandra and Joel both fellsilent and looked up at me. I got the distinct impression that they’d been talking about me.
“You look lovely, Mel,” Sandra commented as they both stood up.
“Thanks,” I replied shyly. Joel put a hand on the small of my back, leading me gently out the door and down the stairs to his car. Sandra refused to take the front seat when I offered it to her.
“You need to stretch your leg out, Mel. Steve would never forgive me if I made you squash up in the back with a sprained ankle.”
I didn’t speak much on the trip to the church. I wiped my clammy hands on my skirt, sneaking a glance at Joel. He was wearing black pinstripe pants and a dark blue shirt and tie, but no jacket – it was draped over the spare seat in the back.
There would be a swarm of media outside the church. My heart lurched and I scrubbed my palms on my skirt again.
“Stink,” Joel murmured. “You okay?”
“I’m …” I began, chewing on a nail, then thought better of it and put my hand back into my lap. “I don’t want to talk to press. I don’t want today to be about … you know.”