about to be ruined, as well as my marriage plans!” She opened the laptop, balanced it on one forearm, and tapped a few keys. “The photographer you introduced her to e-mailed the proofs of the pictures he took.”
She turned the screen to face me. I saw three absolutely gorgeous shots of Celeste in various outfits and poses. They could have been fashion magazine covers.
“Those are very good,” I said, unable to figure out what was upsetting her.
She looked at the screen and scowled. “Wrong pictures.” She angrily punched another key. “Look,” she commanded.
I looked. And felt my mouth drop open in shock.
On the screen was a different kind of photo of Celeste. She was holding in one hand what was unmistakably a chef’s apron. It was placed against her torso strategically, but she was positioned at such an angle that the side of one hip was visible, making it obvious that she wasn’t wearing anything below the waist, either. Somehow her holding that apron against her front made for a more salacious picture than if she’d been standing there completely naked.
It wasn’t only her posing with nothing to cover her except the chef’s apron that made the picture such a shocker to me. Her left hand was raised shoulder high, palm pointed backward, like a waiter carrying a tray. Celeste was smiling at the camera—a sly smile, as though she was enjoying some private joke.
I got the joke because I was sure it was aimed at me.
Balanced on her palm was a pie .
9
I closed my mouth and looked away from the screen—to find Tanis whatever-her-name-was staring at me with venom in her eyes.
She said, “Do you expect me to believe that this surprises you?”
“Of course it does.”
“You introduced Celeste to that man, Redding. Surely you must have known what kind of pictures he took.”
I wasn’t going to betray Liddy by correcting her, so I said, “All I know is that Alec Redding is reputed to be one of Hollywood’s top photographers. His wife works with him—she does his lighting—so it didn’t seem as though Celeste would be asked to do anything . . . inappropriate.”
“Inappropriate!” Tanis snapped the laptop’s lid closed. “This is a catastrophe!”
I reminded myself that this was the anger of a mother being protective of her child, so I spoke gently. “It’s a shock, I understand that, and if she were my daughter I would be as upset as you are, but nowadays many young actresses pose nude. Several even have had sex tapes pop up on the Internet. This photo isn’t going to ruin Celeste’s chances for a movie career.”
“Celeste?” Her eyes widened, then narrowed again into a white-hot glare. “I’m not worried about Celeste’s fantasy of becoming an actress. And there won’t be any sex tape because I’ve kept her a virgin.”
I wondered, silently, how many other mothers had thought that about their teenage daughters, and been wrong.
Tanis shook the pink laptop as though that would remove the offending photo.
“This is a disaster for me ,” she said. “I’m planning to marry a member of royalty. He’s very conservative. His family is very conservative. If this picture gets into the press or on the Internet it will ruin everything. Not only for myself, but for the future I have planned for Celeste, once she gets this acting nonsense out of her head.”
Does she intend to foist Celeste off on some “royal”? That pretty virgin Lady Diana Spencer who married Prince Charles had an unhappy life and a tragic early death.
But I didn’t say that. Instead, “Of course you’re upset. Why don’t you come inside and have a cup of coffee. Or tea. No bags—I brew it with leaves.”
“Tea?” she said with loathing. “I drink coffee. With a sweetener. No sugar.”
“Then may I offer you”—I paused, then added—“black. With a sweetener. No sugar.”
Oblivious to my gentle mockery, she signed heavily, glanced at the laptop, sent a quick sideways look toward the
She turned the screen to face me. I saw three absolutely gorgeous shots of Celeste in various outfits and poses. They could have been fashion magazine covers.
“Those are very good,” I said, unable to figure out what was upsetting her.
She looked at the screen and scowled. “Wrong pictures.” She angrily punched another key. “Look,” she commanded.
I looked. And felt my mouth drop open in shock.
On the screen was a different kind of photo of Celeste. She was holding in one hand what was unmistakably a chef’s apron. It was placed against her torso strategically, but she was positioned at such an angle that the side of one hip was visible, making it obvious that she wasn’t wearing anything below the waist, either. Somehow her holding that apron against her front made for a more salacious picture than if she’d been standing there completely naked.
It wasn’t only her posing with nothing to cover her except the chef’s apron that made the picture such a shocker to me. Her left hand was raised shoulder high, palm pointed backward, like a waiter carrying a tray. Celeste was smiling at the camera—a sly smile, as though she was enjoying some private joke.
I got the joke because I was sure it was aimed at me.
Balanced on her palm was a pie .
9
I closed my mouth and looked away from the screen—to find Tanis whatever-her-name-was staring at me with venom in her eyes.
She said, “Do you expect me to believe that this surprises you?”
“Of course it does.”
“You introduced Celeste to that man, Redding. Surely you must have known what kind of pictures he took.”
I wasn’t going to betray Liddy by correcting her, so I said, “All I know is that Alec Redding is reputed to be one of Hollywood’s top photographers. His wife works with him—she does his lighting—so it didn’t seem as though Celeste would be asked to do anything . . . inappropriate.”
“Inappropriate!” Tanis snapped the laptop’s lid closed. “This is a catastrophe!”
I reminded myself that this was the anger of a mother being protective of her child, so I spoke gently. “It’s a shock, I understand that, and if she were my daughter I would be as upset as you are, but nowadays many young actresses pose nude. Several even have had sex tapes pop up on the Internet. This photo isn’t going to ruin Celeste’s chances for a movie career.”
“Celeste?” Her eyes widened, then narrowed again into a white-hot glare. “I’m not worried about Celeste’s fantasy of becoming an actress. And there won’t be any sex tape because I’ve kept her a virgin.”
I wondered, silently, how many other mothers had thought that about their teenage daughters, and been wrong.
Tanis shook the pink laptop as though that would remove the offending photo.
“This is a disaster for me ,” she said. “I’m planning to marry a member of royalty. He’s very conservative. His family is very conservative. If this picture gets into the press or on the Internet it will ruin everything. Not only for myself, but for the future I have planned for Celeste, once she gets this acting nonsense out of her head.”
Does she intend to foist Celeste off on some “royal”? That pretty virgin Lady Diana Spencer who married Prince Charles had an unhappy life and a tragic early death.
But I didn’t say that. Instead, “Of course you’re upset. Why don’t you come inside and have a cup of coffee. Or tea. No bags—I brew it with leaves.”
“Tea?” she said with loathing. “I drink coffee. With a sweetener. No sugar.”
“Then may I offer you”—I paused, then added—“black. With a sweetener. No sugar.”
Oblivious to my gentle mockery, she signed heavily, glanced at the laptop, sent a quick sideways look toward the
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