Beauty by Louise Mensch

whom?’
    ‘A young lady.’ The older woman turned to leave.
    ‘Wait!’ Edward said, sweating. ‘Mom! Don’t open that—’
    Too late. Penny had already neatly ripped the paper and, as he stared in horror, the large, colourful, glossy pictures poured out – nearly twenty of them. They scattered over the table, across it, spilling everywhere, polluting his eyes.
    Shelby Johnson – Edward’s father.
    Shelby Johnson – Penny’s husband.
    Shelby Johnson – for Congress.
    There he was, in all his elderly glory, ridiculously naked, pink-faced, erect. A young woman was straddling him. Her face was blocked out, cut off, but there was no denying it. Shelby Johnson, handcuffed; Shelby Johnson, gagged; Shelby Johnson, licking a pair of stilettos.
    Penny Johnson went ashen.
    One of the butlers moved forward, to pick up the shots.
    ‘Get back!’ Edward barked. ‘Leave it! Leave us!’
    ‘Sir . . . ?’
    ‘Now!’
    There was a clatter as all the staff withdrew. Penny Johnson started to wail, a keen, high-pitched shriek.
    ‘I . . . I don’t know . . . These are faked . . .’
    Shelby was puce, muttering. He felt sick. He was dizzy. He gripped the table, hoping not to faint.
    ‘I need to lie down,’ he whimpered.
    A small, neatly folded piece of letter paper fluttered out of the dreadful envelope to the paving stones of their terrace. Mechanically, Edward picked it up. His mother snatched it from him, held it in trembling hands. Then she read it aloud – the worst words Edward had ever heard in his life:
    ‘ Since your son fucked me for his amusement, I fucked your husband for mine. ’
    There was no signature.
    Penny Johnson screamed and ripped up the note. She rounded on Shelby. ‘You goddamned bastard!’
    ‘It was a mistake . . .’
    But Penny was rifling through the pictures. ‘A mistake? A mistake? These will wind up in the press. I’ll be a laughing stock!’
    Shelby looked, moaned in horror. It was worse than being caught cheating. He was ridiculous – totally ridiculous.
    He thought of all his friends, laughing. The nudges at the club. The sly looks in the boardroom.
    ‘I can find her, Mother . . .’ Edward said. ‘I can get her—’
    ‘Get her? You got her already, whoever she is . . . You found the lowest whore in the world.’
    ‘Mother!’ His mother was swaying. He rushed to steady her. ‘I won’t . . . let her do anything . . .’
    ‘Find the bitch. Her name is Laura Fielding,’ his father said.
    Edward moaned in his throat. Fielding . The name he’d used. ‘That’s not her real name.’
    ‘Just find her. What will it take to buy her off?’
    ‘I don’t know,’ Edward said.
    ‘Find her.’
    He looked. He looked for two days. But she was gone, vanished from his sight. The apartment was locked up – sold, so the super told him, twice in a month.
    ‘She lived here.’ A hundred-dollar bill loosened his throat. ‘Sure, she bought the apartment from the landlord. Sold it three weeks later. She made a nice profit on it, real nice.’ He was admiring. ‘I couldn’t believe . . . Used to be a dump, before her. That kid is going places.’
    Yeah – going to jail. For blackmail .
    He rang the coffee shop, but she hadn’t gone back since she was fired. There was nothing registered in the phone book. And then, on day four, Edward had a bright idea.
    He reconnected his old cellphone – the cheap one he’d bought to woo Dina Kane.
    Almost instantly, the text came through. It had been waiting for him:
    Missing me? You can call.
    He rang the number and left a message. In an hour, she rang him back.
    ‘You fucking bitch!’
    ‘How are you, Edward? Don’t tell me you’ve stopped laughing about our little tryst. I thought you and your friends were so amused by it?’
    ‘What do you want? Money? Isn’t that what whores want?’ He was vicious in his contempt, his hatred. ‘How much will it take?’
    Edward’s family was already shattered. His mother