Private Lives

‘Who was your boyfriend?’ asked Helen, her excitement growing. Finally Mark had hit gold, she could feel it.

‘He was from London. A photographer. He hated Balon for some reason and really wanted the story to run; some revenge deal, I guess.’

‘So how did you get around Jo?’

Deena smirked.

‘My boyfriend was moving out of his apartment in the Village. Great place, rent-controlled, and he was tight with the landlord. Jo said she’d have a word with Spencer and make the feature happen if my boyfriend made sure his apartment was turned over to her.’

Helen tried to keep her face neutral, but inside she was punching the air. This was exactly the breakthrough she had been hoping for.

‘Why didn’t you write the story?’

‘Because I didn’t know enough about Balon. My boyfriend told Jo to use one of his old friends from London, Ted Francis.’

Francis was a named co-defendant, along with the editor and Steinhoff publishing.

‘My boyfriend phoned Ted and said he had got him some work at Stateside magazine. Every serious journalist wants to get commissioned by Stateside. But the deal was that the story had to expose Balon.’

‘Your boyfriend,’ Helen said. ‘I need his name.’

Deena gave a laugh.

‘I know you do, but as I said, this has to be worth my while.’ Helen’s lips tightened. Usually she would dispense with little chancers like Deena Washington, but she knew she was running out of time.

‘What do you want, Deena?’

‘The summer rental on this place isn’t cheap,’ she said, inclining her head back towards the house.

Helen took a breath of the sharp, salty air. She knew that Deena would be sharing the cost with some of the others hanging out around the barbie.

‘Okay, what’s your split of the rent? Five thousand dollars?’

Deena shook her head.

‘Five thousand bucks for pissing off the most powerful editor in America? Come on.’

‘But you’re in TV now, Deena,’ said Helen. ‘What do you care about Spencer?’

‘Spencer has friends in high places everywhere. I’m pretty sure he can screw me over with one phone call if he chooses. No, I want the whole rental. Forty thousand bucks.’

Helen swallowed. ‘I’ll give you fifteen,’ she said.

Deena shook her head. ‘My guess is that you want to win this case a whole heap. Otherwise why else are you out here in the middle of a trial? I want the lot or you get zip.’

‘Fine,’ said Helen, smarting. ‘My colleague will speak to you when we get back to the house.’ She always avoided getting involved with deals of this nature; it was simply good practice. Besides, Mark Carrington was an expert in diverting whatever funds were needed through a dozen accounts in as many countries so that should anyone wish to trace the cash, it would never come back to her. She turned her steely gaze on to the girl. ‘The name of your boyfriend, Deena.’

She hesitated for a moment, then shrugged.

‘Dominic Bradley,’ she said. ‘Works out of the Eleven Street Studios downtown, fashion stuff mostly, but it’s August and everyone in fashion goes on holiday, so my guess is he’ll be back in London to visit his folks.’

Helen smiled as they walked back towards the house.

‘Out of interest, why did you just tell me all that, when Spencer had told everyone to keep quiet?’ asked Helen.

‘Spencer’s a jerk, that’s why,’ said Deena with feeling. ‘He promotes yes-men and whoever will suck his cock. He pushed Lizzie out and made Jo head of features, and with Spencer to open doors for her, Jo didn’t need me any more. The moment that happened, Spencer called me into his office and said he was letting me go.’ She turned to Helen, her cheeks pink. ‘You screw that prick,’ she said. ‘He deserves a fall.’

Helen smiled and nodded. The girl clearly was an operator, but in reality she was naive. If Stateside lost the case, it would have little or no impact on Spencer Reed personally. So he’d angered Jonathon Balon, but Balon was a big fish in the small pool of London, and Spencer moved in higher circles.