Ben Bacchetti was livid. “How did this happen?” he said. He waved the newspaper aloft and pointed at the picture. It showed Tessa Tweed at the Oscar party laughing and hoisting a martini. The headline of the article read: TIPSY TWEED?
“How does this even happen?” Ben said. “This is from the party. This was taken last night. Did you even see a camera there?”
“It’s from a cell phone photo,” Teddy said.
“That’s very clear.”
“It’s been enhanced.”
“You mean photoshopped? Someone mocked it up?”
“It’s not mocked up. It’s a real photograph. I know when it was taken.”
“When?”
“Last night when I went to the bar. Tessa came over. I got her a drink and handed it to her. We toasted the Oscars. That’s what you see there.”
“Do you think someone was planted at the party to take that picture?”
“Or happened to be there and saw a chance to make some extra cash.”
“Yeah, but look at this,” Ben said, pointing to the newspaper. “It’s like the guy wrote the article and then shot a photo to go with it.”
“No one set the photo up. If the host had caught them, that would be their last invitation anywhere.”
“I suppose,” Ben conceded.
“So what do you want to do?”
“This reporter who wrote the story,” Ben said. “It’s the same one who wrote the others. This Josh Hargrove. I want to have a little talk with him.”
“No, you don’t,” Teddy said.
“The hell I don’t.”
“This is a small story. It isn’t true, but that’s the least of it. It’s boring. Tessa Tweed had a drink at a party? Ho-hum. But if you fly off the handle and attack this reporter, it’s a huge story. It’s big and it’s fun and it’s news. That’s why the paparazzi hound celebrities. If they can get them to react, they’ve got something. If they can’t, they don’t.”
“Well, something needs to be done,” Ben said. “This can’t go on forever.”
“I know.”
“So what do you suggest?”
“Let me talk to him,” Teddy said.