Chapter 6: The Caption

The post had four thousand comments by morning.

Some of them were kind.

Most of them were not.

A woman in Ohio wanted to know how someone my size had gotten a billionaire to touch her.

A man wanted to know who had approved the dress.

I read every one over coffee in Ansel's kitchen while Lila watched me from the other end of the counter.

"Jo," she said. "Please don't read them."

"I'm a lawyer. I read everything."

"You're doing the face."

"I'm doing my face on purpose."

I put the phone down.

Ansel was at the stove in a gray T-shirt, making eggs, and he hadn't said a word about the post.

He turned off the burner.

"What do you want me to do?" he asked.

"Nothing."

"Jo."

"I want you to drive me to a boutique," I said, "and wait in the car."

Chantal's shop was on Armitage, white walls and gold fixtures, with a brunch table set up in the back for her friends.

I had been invited to that brunch twice.

I walked in at noon in a fitted red dress with my hair down.

Nobody noticed me until the bell over the door stopped ringing.

There were nine women at the long table.

Chantal sat at the head of it with a mimosa and a phone propped against her glass.

She looked up and smiled.

"Jo! You came. I was just saying how brave you've been."

"Take it down, Chantal."

"Take what down?"

"The photo. The caption. All of it."

She laughed lightly and glanced at her friends.

"It's a joke. Everyone knows it's a joke."

"Then I'll explain it, so the table can laugh."

I walked to the head of the table and stood beside her chair.

I did not raise my voice.

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