Free An Image of Death by Libby Fischer Hellmann

would pop in with suggestions to include or exclude certain people or places, all of which sounded reasonable and innocuous at first glance. Ultimately, though, those suggestions always portrayed her as a smart, savvy businesswoman with a heart of gold. Of course, she was paying the bills then, and I didn’t have a choice. I took a sip of wine. She was paying the bills now, too.
    Still. “I usually don’t put people I know in my films, Ricki. It can strain the credibility of the piece, especially if the audience knows there’s a connection. And there’s always the risk of getting too close to your subject. You lose objectivity.”
    Ricki’s gaze, suddenly disinterested, wandered off mine. “I’m sure you’re right, Ellie. You did talk it through with Jordan, didn’t you?” Was she showing off, or was it just her nature?
    I bit back a reply. “Jordan Bennett runs Transitions here in Chicago,” I explained to David.
    “He grew up in foster care, too.” As Ricki recounted how he moved here from California, I waited for a proprietary smile or an excessively casual shrug, something that would reveal the nature of their relationship. But she gave no hint of her feelings. “You and Jordan should meet,” she concluded.
    “I’d like that,” David said.
    I gritted my teeth.
    Our meals came, and Ricki made her good-byes. The men fawned over her as they helped her on with her coat, and as she exited the restaurant, the maitre d’ kissed her hand.
    “She was nice,” David said between bites. “Not at all what I expected.”
    I sawed through my steak. Men could be so obtuse. “She’s probably trying to finance a new venture.”
    “I don’t think so.”
    “How do you know?”
    “You don’t know who Max Gordon is.”
    “Should I?”
    “Gordon owns one of the most aggressive, fastest-growing banks in the country. Maybe the world. Gold Coast’s asset base has practically tripled over the past few years. Fortune did an article on him not long ago. He’s definitely a comer.”
    “Must be nice.” I dug into my potatoes.
    “He’s been actively involved in rebuilding the economies of Eastern European countries. His investments have done well. They say he has the ‘touch.’”
    I polished off the potatoes, not much interested in bankers, Fortune , or Eastern Europe. “I hope you’re not upset by what I said about interviewing you.”
    David shrugged.
    He was.
    “But we’ve…you’ve never really talked about it. Foster care, that is.”
    “You never asked.”
    “I figured if you wanted to tell me, you would.”
    “Maybe you figured wrong.”
    “Okay.” I put down my knife and fork. “I’m asking now.”
    The silence that followed was so long, I thought he’d changed his mind. He looked down at his plate. Then he looked up. “You know how at Halloween kids bob for apples in a tub of water?”
    I nodded.
    “Imagine you’re one of those apples. You never know who’ll take a bite out of you. If you’ll be snagged. Where you’ll end up. What the people will be like. You might still be licking your wounds from the last place, but you’re worried sick about the next.”
    “But you survived it.”
    He shook his head. “Survival isn’t the issue.”
    I shifted. “What is?”
    “Terror. The sheer terror of having absolutely no control over what happens to you.” He waved a hand in the air. “You take all of this…for granted.”
    I looked around. “All of what?”
    “The security. The safety. You have support systems. Family. People who back you up. Christ, Ellie, I had nothing. And I was a little kid. When I.…” His face was impenetrable.
    “What?”
    Another shake of the head.
    I leaned forward. “David, did…did something happen to you when you were in foster care?”
    Shades of pain passed across his face. He took a breath. “I’m fine.”
    “I know you are.” I reached for his hand. “I understand. That wasn’t my question.”
    “Ellie, stop with the third degree, okay? I