Page 127 of Ruin

But Zeus quickly talked that thought out of my head.

Of course, the press came to town. I had photographers following me when I was taking Gigi to pre-K. The one good thing about working at the precinct is that they look after their own. Whether they think you’re a stripper or not. I might not be an officer, but when you work at the precinct, you’re as good as one.

So, Port Washington’s law enforcement has made it very clear to the press that they’re not welcome here.

It’s been well over a week now, and the press seems to be losing interest, which is good news for me.

But, sadly, the other moms at pre-K don’t seem to be losing interest, and I’m still the top story of the moment. I don’t know if it’s because of who Zeus is. Or that they think I’m a stripper. Or that they think I purposely kept Zeus from his daughter. Or all three. In any case, my patience is wearing thin.

No one’s said anything directly to me yet, but I’m getting the stares and disapproving looks from the moms along with leers from some of the dads, and I’ve been hearing the whispers about me when they think I’m not listening.

Zeus wanted to do school drop-off with me, so I wouldn’t be alone, but I told him no. It’s bad enough when he’s not there. Could you imagine the looks I would get if he were?

I just don’t want any unnecessary attention brought Gigi’s way.

She’s doing fine. Of course, she asked why people wanted to take our pictures. And I just told her it was because Daddy’s a famous boxer, and she was satisfied with that. She even started waving at the photographers, and I didn’t stop her.

I did speak to her pre-K teacher when the story first broke. Not the most comfortable of conversations, but I wanted her to be in the know. She was great. And, apparently, she’s a big boxing fan. Meaning a big fan of Zeus’s. Insert eye roll here.

And we had no problems at all—up until yesterday. Well, it wasn’t so much a problem. More of a question when I buckled Gigi up in her car seat and started the drive home.

“Mommy, what’s a stwipper?”

I had to stop myself from slamming on the brakes. And bursting into tears.

I kept myself together and continued driving the car. “Where did you hear that word, baby?” I asked her.

“Well, at recess, Bentley Parsons said to me that he heard his mom tell his dad that you’s a stwipper.”

I felt my heart crack down the middle.

“Bentley said to you that Mommy is a stripper?”

“My mommy, not his. He said his mommy’s a party pwanner. What’s a party pwanner?”

“Someone who plans and organizes parties for other people.” And gossips about other people and gives their kid a stupid name.

“I thinks I wants to be a party pwanner when I’s a grown-up.”

“I think you’d be an excellent party planner, Gigi girl.” I smiled at her in the rearview mirror.

It was quiet for a moment, and I thought I’d dodged a bullet—until she said, “You didn’t answer my question, Mommy.”

My heart sank. “What question was that?”

She sighed and rolled her eyes. “I said, what’s a stwipper?”

I knew there was no avoiding it, and I wasn’t going to lie to her, so I took a deep breath and told her the truth, “Well, a stripper is a person who dances in front of people as a job, like Mommy did at the club, but the difference is that a stripper removes their clothes, and Mommy never did that when she danced.”

I glanced at her in my rearview again and saw that her eyes were as wide as saucers.

“They gets naked?” she whispered.

“No, not totally naked. They keep their underwear on.”

Okay, so I had to lie a little. I didn’t want to scar her little mind for life.

“So, Gigi, if Bentley Parsons or anyone else says that your mommy is a stripper, you tell them they’re wrong.”