Lake News by Barbara Delinsky

simple. Elizabeth had advised her to tackle only the major allegations and leave minor misrepresentations alone for now, and much as Lily wanted to yell and scream in her own defense about the rest, she restrained herself. Public relations was Elizabeth’s field. She was an experienced image shaper. Indeed, she coaxed and cajoled the media crowd into moving back and showing a little respect, and if she looked a bit too comfortable in her roll as spokesperson, a bit too pleased while working the crowd, Lily forgave her. Her own friends, mostly book people or music people, weren’t equipped to help. Thanks to Elizabeth’s prevailing upon the press, Lily was able to walk to school unmolested, thinking that maybe, just maybe, the scandal had begun its retreat.
    Michael Eddy didn’t think so. He knew exactly how much the school paid her and, even allowing for her work at the club, wanted to know how she could affordAruba and a BMW. She told him how, as she had told Elizabeth, and when Peter Oliver asked about Victoria’s Secret, she explained that she bought jeans there, not lingerie. When people stared passing her in the halls, she simply walked on. When faculty members left her sitting alone in the cafeteria, she read a book. She might have taken her frustration out on Mitch Rellejik, only he didn’t come in until late. Midafternoon, as soon as she finished work, she left school, genuinely happy to be done for the day.
    She took heart when she saw that the press contingent remained lighter than it had been the day before, and once in her apartment, dared turn on the evening news. It was a mistake. The story was covered prominently on every channel, taking parts of the morning’s stories and giving them lurid twists, and there were more photographs. In one she scowled at the camera. In another she hid her face. And then there were the glamour shots.
    Lily had classy publicity photos taken shortly after she arrived in Boston. She also had older ones that were beautiful and dignified. Naturally, the media didn’t use those. They were painting a picture of a woman who lived above her means and paid for it by sleeping with powerful men. So they chose the most lurid shots they could find, from her earliest days in New York, in which the skimpy leotards she wore emphasized slim legs, narrow hips, and full breasts.
    She felt naked and exposed. She also felt furious—embarrassed—horrified!
    Worst, she didn’t know what to do, and told Dan Curry as much when she arrived at the club. He gave herthe name of a lawyer, which was small solace. More comforting, he had word from the Cardinal.
    â€œHe’s sick about this, Lily. We’re all sitting around wondering whether the Pope will reverse his elevation, and the Cardinal is sitting around worrying about you. As far as he’s concerned, you didn’t ask for this, you don’t deserve it, you’re a victim caught in the line of fire. His lawyers have told him not to be in direct touch with you, but he doesn’t like it.”
    That was fine, she thought. Still, a call from him might have been nice. Even one made from a phone booth. Or a friend’s telephone. Just to make her feel less alone. But she understood. He was in a bind.
    â€œHe’s thinking of you, Lily. He told me to tell you that he knows you have the strength to weather this and come out stronger and even more sure of yourself than before.”
    Lily clung to those words through a difficult night of playing before an audience that stared and talked and crowded in on her. She went to bed praying that this was the worst, and after an on-again, off-again sleep, woke up feeling tired and tense. She was listening to a ponderous Tchaikovsky piece that reflected her mood when a somber Elizabeth appeared at the door with the morning Post . The headline read, DETAILS EMERGE ON CARDINAL’S WOMAN .
    With a hard swallow, Lily took the paper, and at first there was