it.
“Could you have been drunk?” Mikel asked.
I made him wait before I said, “No.”
“If you got drunk and don’t remember—”
“That wasn’t taken while I was drunk, Mikel.”
“How do you know?”
“I’d remember.”
“Sure you would. If you didn’t pose for this, if you didn’t let someone photograph you with your permission, then this isn’t just a picture of my baby sister naked. This is some fucker spying on you, that’s what this is.”
“I didn’t pose for it!” I shouted at his reflection, then turned and gave him the rest face to face. “Will you get that? None of us do shit like that! Hell, not even Van, and
He frowned, thinking. “Can you tell when it was taken? Or where?”
“I don’t know! Maybe a dressing room someplace, but it could be a hotel room. I can’t even make out the fucking background, how the fuck do I know where it was taken?”
“I think that was done on purpose. Looks like somebody used a Gaussian blur to break up the rest of the image around you.”
“A what?”
“It’s a graphics effect, real easy to do if you have Photoshop or another program like that. Just takes the image and messes it up. Mostly it’s done as an artistic effect.”
“That’s not art.”
Mikel looked at the paper lying on the counter, then grimaced and flipped it over again. “You should talk to a lawyer.”
“I don’t have a lawyer.”
“Sure you do.”
“No I don’t.”
“You must.”
“If I do, nobody told me.”
“Then call Van or Graham and find out, because you definitely need some legal advice, little sister.”
I moved to the sink, flicked ash down the drain. It seemed like I’d finally caught my breath. Mikel didn’t say anything, probably looking at the picture again while trying not to look at the parts of it that were me, and just the thought of it got my heart racing once more. How many people had seen it already? How many people I didn’t know, and—God Almighty—how many that I
For a moment, just for a moment, I thought I was going to vomit.
“I don’t understand what’s happening,” I said, turning to face him.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean I get kicked out of the band and I come home and there’s a man fucking stalking me and last night he’s in my
“He came
“—and now you’re showing me a picture of myself that maybe people all over the world have seen.”
“Did you say he came back?”
“Last night. I think it was him. I don’t know anymore. I’d been in the basement and the door was open and I set the alarm and ran, and then I saw this guy running down the block, but I didn’t really get that good a look at him. It looked like the same guy, he looked the same, but the hair was different.”
“Different how?”
“He’d shaved his head.”
Mikel scowled. “Motherfucker.”
“I don’t understand this! I don’t understand why this is happening to me!”
The scowl held for a moment longer, and then Mikel seemed to hear me, and it smoothed. “You’re famous, Mim.”
I shook my head.
“You are, and the sooner you admit that to yourself, the easier you’ll find it is to deal with this stuff.”
I pointed at the photograph. “How am I supposed to deal with that? How am I supposed to go outside? Fuck that, how the hell am I supposed to get onstage, thinking that maybe everyone in the audience has seen how I trim my bush?”
He winced. “See, that’s something I didn’t want to know.”
“It’s not funny!” I screeched.
“No, I know it’s not.” He came forward, put his hands on my arms. “Look, call a lawyer, okay? Get some legal advice.”
I caught my breath, then nodded. Mikel gave me a hug, and I took it, but it didn’t make me feel much better at all. I asked him if he wanted me to make coffee or anything, if he wanted to stick around, but he said he had to get going. He left the copy of the picture, saying that the lawyer might need it, and he gave me a kiss on the top of my head, and went out.
I locked up again after he went, then picked up the phone and dialed Graham’s mobile number. I wasn’t sure if he was in London yet, or if maybe they were in the air, or maybe even still in New York.
The phone rang twice before he answered. “Havers.”
“Graham? It’s Mim.”
“Mim,” he said, and he made the one word sound ominous. “You’re home safely?”
“I’m home. I need some help, Graham.”
“Mimser.” He sighed, an echo on the phone. “You know I’m doing everything I can, baby, but Van’s made up her mind—”
“It’s not about Vanessa, Graham. I need to know, do I have a lawyer in town, here in Portland? Or does Tailhook, at least, have someone I can talk to about something?”
Caution caved to concern, probably more for Tailhook than for me. “You in trouble, sugar?”
“Do we, Graham?”
“Of course we do, he’s been on retainer for two years now. Weren’t you wondering where five percent was going every month?”
“What’s his name?”
“What’s this about, babe?”
Normally I didn’t mind the “babes” and the “sweeties” and the “honeys” but right now it made me want to reach through the phone and throttle him. “It’s about naked pictures of me on the fucking Internet, Graham! Now will you give me the goddamn name and the goddamn number for this goddamn attorney?”
There was a pause, and I was getting angrier, thinking he was trying to determine if I was full of shit or not, then realized he was pulling the listing up on his PDA.
“Fred Chapel,” Graham said, then rattled off a string of digits. I didn’t have a loose piece of paper anywhere, so I ended up writing the number on the back of the picture. “This is just about you? Nothing about Van or Click?”
“No, Graham.” I snapped it at him. “I’m the only one who’s being humiliated.”
“Hon, I’ve got to ask—”
I hung up, then started dialing Chapel’s number.
The receptionist transferred me to Chapel as soon as she had my name, and without my having to ask. So even though I didn’t know who Fred Chapel was prior to five minutes ago, at least I was assured that he and his staff knew who I was.
Fred Chapel came on the line and greeted me like we’d spoken just yesterday, instead of never.
“Miriam, what can I do for you today?”
“I’m in Portland, I don’t know if you heard about that.”
“Yes, Graham told me. How are you feeling?”
“Can I come and see you?”
