Black Diaries

36. The Grand Event

"Mr. Winslow! Mr. Winslow, why have you suddenly taken an interest in species protection?"

"Mr. Winslow, who is she? Tell us, who is she?"

"Miss? Your name please! A statement! What is the nature of your relationship with New York's hottest bachelor?"

"Miss, are you in a serious relationship with Mr. Winslow?"

"Miss? Miss, was it you who got Mr. Winslow interested in pink armadillos?"

The onslaught of questions started the moment Nelson opened the limousine door. Lights flashed, hands clutched the side of the car, wide eyes behind cameras were staring at me. I shrank back like a startled fawn. Grabbing the door out of the surprised chauffeur's hands, I slammed it shut again.

"Elliot!" I hissed, leaning over to him. "We must be at the wrong address! There are a bunch of crazy people outside!"

Elliot raised an eyebrow. "What's the matter? It's just a couple of journalists."

"Journalists? They're bloodhounds!"

"Oh, they're not so bad."

"Um, ma'am?" came Nelson's voice from outside. "Is everything all right?"

"Go on," Elliot encouraged. "They're really quite nice."

Cautiously, I opened the door again, just a crack.

"Miss! Miss, are you agoraphobic?"

"Why have you changed your mind, Miss? Do you think the pink fairy armadillo is not worth supporting, after all?"

I slammed the door shut again.

"You know," Elliot pointed out, "we will eventually have to get out of the car. Unless you want Nelson to crash through the front door in the limo."

"Stop smiling!"

"I'm not smiling."

"You are!"

"All right. Maybe a little. But it is kind of funny, don't you think? The fierce karate girl who is afraid of nothing, scared of photographers?"

"You're smiling again!"

"Sorry."

"Elliot, you don't understand!" I leaned forward, and in a low voice that I hoped nobody else could hear, whispered: "They have cameras!"

He cocked his head. "You make that sound like 'they have gory instruments of torture'."

It's worse, you exquisitely loveable idiot! Instruments of torture won't get me landed in prison for the rest of my life!

"Come on." Patting my hand, he took it and before I knew what was happening had opened the door again. "It won't be so bad."

Suddenly, I was outside, and a thunderstorm of lightning flashes engulfed me. Squealing, I covered my face with my hands and hoped to hell it had been in time.

"Miss!" came the yelling out of the darkness beyond my eyelids. "Miss! Please tell us your name!"

Me? I'm Miss Scared As Shit! Nice to meet you! Call me Scared!

"Tell us, what is it like to date E.W. Winslow?"

At the moment? Batshit crazy!

"Why are you covering your face, Miss? Are you disfigured? Do you have pimples on your nose?"

Now, I'm a patient girl. I don't normally resort to violence, unless absolutely necessary (as in the case of certain past husbands of mine). But that was too much even for me. Pimples? Pimples on my nose?