Sorority Girls With Guns (30 page)

“
In that case,” Richard says, turning back around. “I'd like to introduce you to some of the people we're helping.”

Harry's eyebrows shoot up. “They're...here?”

“
Oh, yes,” Richard says, bobbing his head excitedly, dimples back in full swing. He unbuttons his jacket and shoves it behind him, planting his hands on his hips. “All my life, I've wondered something about charity galas. Why is it that the homeless or the sick or whoever they're helping are never attending the party? So tonight, I invited every current resident of the Downtown Homeless Shelter to have dinner with us. And I paid for a dress or tuxedo rental for each of them at the same shop where I got my suit! Come on, I'll introduce you!”

Morgan, Matt and I trail behind the group of reporters as Richard drags them over to a large table near the front of the room and starts making introductions. Harry and the blonde and all the rest are shaking hands with people in suits and formal dresses who smile with half their teeth missing.

“
I don't believe it,” Morgan says. “What an incredible idea!”

“
Of course he'd think of that, he's such a bleeding heart,” I say, although the truth is it was my idea. (Richard's bleeding heart led him to agree in a hurry though.) I came up with it for a couple reasons: For one thing, it's different enough to distract the reporters form Richard's parents (or my past, for that matter). For another thing, I always
di
d wonder why you never saw homeless people at benefits for homeless people. The people Harry's interviewing look happy, and some of them are digging into dinner like they haven't eaten in weeks.

“
Yeah, you're right.” Matt shakes his head. “He sure is smart, you know?” he asks, in a low voice meant only for me and Morgan. “The way he handled those reporters – he never came right out and said he was rich, but he didn't deny it, either. He just let them keep thinking what they already thought in a way that apparently shut them up.”

“
It was a good idea,” I agree. It worked because it made sense; rich kids like Richard frequently complain that people are more interested in their parents than them (I know from reading all those highly intellectual magazines like
The Enquirer
). It also discouraged the press from pursuing the story for a few reasons: Kids of rich people/celebs are only really interesting when they get caught doing something bad, like snorting cocaine off a hooker's ass or driving drunk or  getting trashed and puking on their Prada shoes. Throwing a charity benefit isn't scandalous, and connecting Richard to his parents isn't going to rocket any of these local reporters onto a national news program. There's no point in pissing off a rich kid – and possibly his parents - just so you can break the story that he donated money to charity.

We finally reach the table where Richard is shaking hands and asking the homeless people how they're enjoying dinner. Delilah is explaining how Richard purchased all the unused tickets himself and used them for the homeless' table.

“
He wanted the homeless to enjoy not only the results of the gala, but the gala itself,” she says, rattling off one of my talking points. “He also felt it was important that the other guests get to meet the people they're generosity helps. Look, here's a donor now.”

The couple who walk up are middle-aged, a little younger and far richer than my parents. Like, you'd never see them driving an Oldsmobile. I bet their
gardener
wouldn't be caught dead in one. The man, decked out in a tux that looks a lot like Richard's, looks vaguely familiar but I can't place him.

“
Councilman Ornsby, it's a pleasure to see you here,” Harry says, jerking his mike away from an older gentleman at the table who bears a striking resemblance to Santa Claus with his long beard. He points it instead at the no-Oldsmobile man and his wife, a woman who stands so straight she looks like she has a rod shoved up her ass to improve her posture.

“
I always try to support charitable causes, and I'm thrilled that this young man has given me the opportunity to meet some of the people from the Downtown Shelter,” Ornsby says, with his running-for-reelection smile plastered across his face. He shakes hands with Richard, then moves on to everyone at the table.

The buxom blonde has her mike pointed toward the ass-kissing, but she's looking at Delilah. “That's it!” she exclaims suddenly, during a temporary lull in the nauseating melee of thanks. She jams the mike in Delilah's face. “Carrie Farmer, Channel Two News. I've been thinking that I recognized you all night, and I just realized why.”

“
I'm sure we haven't met,” Delilah says. “I guess I just have one of those faces.”

“
No, we haven't met,” Carrie says, holding up her cell phone and waving it at Delilah. “But I did recognize you – from this mug shot. That
is
you after you were arrested for prostitution last year, right?”

The entire room has gone from a cacophony of elbow-rubbing and name-dropping to complete silence in seconds. Matt's starting to sweat. Richard's expression of neutrality looks like it's glued over his real face. Morgan knocks back a gulp of champagne. Even Charlie and Tiffany stop what they're doing and tiptoe toward the table like they're afraid of setting off a bomb or something.

Too late for that.

Delilah folds her arms over her ample chest and tosses her long hair. “I'm in public relations. Those charges were dropped, and my past has nothing to do with this evening.”

Reporters start screaming questions at her. Delilah's tough – she'd have to be, putting up with all the crap she has to deal with in her line of work. But she's not used to cameras in her face and reporters asking about her “former” career as a hooker. “I will not comment on anything unrelated to this event!” she yells at the crowd, to no avail.

Harry turns to Richard. “Did you know she was a hooker when you hired her?”

“
Of course not!” Richard snaps. “And I'm inclined to agree that her past has nothing to do with our work on this event.”

“
He's telling the truth,” Matt jumps in. “I ordered the escorts for our party at the Pink Kitty last week, which is totally legal – I Googled it. Richard had no idea that I'd hired an escort service until the cops busted the party and tried to frame us for prostitution, which we didn't do!”

I really, really want to kick him in the head right now, but there's nothing up there to hurt.

The reporters abandon Delilah and start furiously searching their phones for police reports from last week. Great, now they really
do
have something to say about a rich kid named Richard Walters. What the fuck am I supposed to do now?

“
Excuse me!” I yell at the top of my lungs. No one responds, so I tap Santa on the shoulder and ask, “Pardon me, may I borrow your chair for just a moment?” He nods and stands up. I thank him and jump up on the chair, then leap onto the table. “Excuse me!” I yell again, and this time the barrage of questions stops...temporarily.

I glance at my cell phone and note the time: 12:02. The bet is officially over. “I'd like to explain a few things about this situation,” I say. “When my friends and I went on vacation this year, we agreed to work on this project to help the environment
and
everyone who finds themselves financially anemic in the current economic climate...which would be a lot of people these days. After we'd been recycling and reselling for a little while, we thought we'd made a video illustrating that you could make enough money to live like a rich person. Richard here
hates
that sort of thing-” I smile indulgently at Richard. “-so he agreed to let our party animal friends, Matt and Charlie, plan the bash.

“
Well, Matt decided to order some escorts so none of our guests would get lonely. He didn't mention this to me, Richard, or anyone else. He was conscientious enough to make sure it was legal in this state, and it
is
,” I add pointedly.

“
So we get to the club where Matt and Charlie booked us a private room for our party, and the bouncer doesn't like us. I don't know why.  Anyway, he called the cops and reported us for having prostitutes at our party, which was absolutely not true. And that's why you're all finding that there are no arrest reports at the Pink Kitty for last week – because nothing happened. The cops showed up, asked a few questions and Matt explained the situation – to the cops
and
Richard, who was really embarrassed by the whole thing. But he felt that it would be wrong to fire Delilah as his PR rep for the charity gala just because of what he found out about her second job.

“
After all, his goal with this party and in helping us with the project in general, was to help people who are struggling to make ends meet. Delilah here is working hard at two jobs to put herself through school and support her young son.” I'm glad I actually did take the time to find out about Delilah's background; the more info you have on people, the easier it is to make up a convincing lie on the spot, and I believe in being prepared. “And Delilah's second job is perfectly legal. Richard felt that it would be wrong to hold it against her, when her work on this project was excellent. Delilah, thank you for working so hard to make this event a reality.”

Delilah nods with a shocked look on her face. I think she expected me to throw her under the bus.

“
What she's saying is true,” Matt adds, as I hop off the table as carefully as I can, trying not to rupture the nice stapling job Morgan did on my backside. “I planned the party, and I decided to hire the escorts. I'm sorry if what I did caused anyone else any embarrassment, but it
was
perfectly legal.”

 
The reporters start firing questions again. “Is this the first time you've been caught with an escort?” Harry asks.

“
Mr. Walters, does your family know about your unorthodox methods of helping the poor?” Carrie demands.

“
Isn't it true you bribed the cops to keep this off the books?” yells a guy in the back.

Richard is flashing the dimples around and dabbing at his face with his sleeve, but the hits just keep coming.

I'm trying to think of another way to get this disaster under control when I'm shocked by something going right for a change: Someone else is up on the table yelling.

I turn around and see Santa standing up on the table, rapping his cane on the white damask tablecloth. It knocks over a glass of red wine. He doesn't notice.

“
Hold it right there, all a'ya!” he yells. “I have something to say, and you news folks better listen, 'cause I'm homeless and yer supposed to be 'ere to do a story 'bout me, now ain'tcha?”

None of the reporters answer, so he keeps going. “I just want to say that I don't care what these young people have done in their personal lives,” Santa continues. He reaches down and pats Richard on the shoulder. “I was young once. But I've been old for a while now, and I've been in and out of homeless shelters for a while now, too. And you know what? For years, I see rich people coming in there and givin' me sympathetic looks and writing a check to the management, but I've never met one a'um who'd break bread with me. And this here feller-” He claps Richard on the back, nearly knocking him over. Santa's a strong old guy. “-he's the first rich donor who ever treated me like a person. And that means more to me than all the checks all those other rich people have written over the years. And that's the story you people ought to focus on, not the fact that he talked to an escort at a party.”

Santa has a lot more trouble getting off the table than he apparently did getting up on it, so I offer him a hand and help him back into his seat. Then I turn around and help Richard field questions from the reporters. They haven't shut up, but at least they've slowed down a little. I reiterate that Richard did nothing wrong, and drag the conversation back to the charity after every question.

“
I'm only going to say this once,” I yell toward the man in the back of the crowd. “My friends and I have not broken any laws. We will not comment further on any ridiculous suggestions about bribery or other criminal activities because we have already answered those questions. Now, who would like to know more about how environmentally friendly practices can save you money?”

Chapter Thirty-Five

Amazingly, last night was
not
the disaster it could have been. Despite their best efforts to turn up a scandal, the reporters were forced to go with Richard's unorthodox decision to invite the homeless to the gala, and Santa's speech (Santa turned out to be Bernie Newberry, a Vietnam vet who fell on hard times after serving his country.)

The first thing I did when I got up this morning was check the national news feeds. The story about the party and Santa made it to only one national news source, and it was buried near the bottom of page one, typical of stories that don't involve a lot of death, destruction and violence (the first thing you learn about journalism in PR class – if it bleeds, it leads). There was no mention of Richard's family or background.

As I run on the treadmill, I use my phone to watch local news coverage and check the local papers. Carrie suggested that Richard might be heir to the Walters brewery, but admitted no one at the family-owned company could be reached for comment or confirmation. No one else speculated about his background at all. Looks like in spite of Matt's stupidity, we're both going to come out of this okay.