“How would anybody know anything about the house?”

“Real estate agents are notorious gossips, and some of them string for the tabloids and worse, like the Drudge Report.”

“What’s the Drudge Report?”

“If you don’t know, you don’t need to. Some of the media may have already seen the sales contract. Have you closed?”

“No, tomorrow.”

“You can do the name change at that time. Ask your attorney to create a new corporation in your home state. Where is that?”

“Florida.”

“Good, call him today. Theresa?”

“Yes?”

“You’re going to be my daughter today. Have you and Laurence been photographed together since you arrived?”

“Not to my knowledge. Well, there was one moment when I thought . . .” She explained her feelings about the morning before.

“Okay, if that happened, he was your boyfriend who left to go to New York this morning. Don’t give them a name. Laurence, you’re my houseguest here, and you’re going back to California tomorrow. In fact, this cocktail party is taking place in California, part of the ground rules.”

“Whatever you say.”

Laurence told her about the incident with the intruder a couple of nights before.

“So, he’s smallish and drives a Mini, or some such?”

“Right.”

“He’ll probably be here. Let’s pick him out right away and be careful of him. Theresa, you will decline to be photographed. Laurence, I will place you against that wall over there to be photographed. The picture could be anywhere, not Santa Fe. After you are photographed, excuse yourself and go upstairs—tell them you have to pack for an early flight, don’t say where.”

“All right.”

The doorbell rang.

“Theresa, please get that. If it’s a lady with a makeup case, let her in. If not, call me.”

Theresa went to the door and came back with a lady with two cases.

“Laurence, Theresa, this is Betty Simmons, ace makeup artist and dresser. Laurence, try on the clothes Betty brought.”

Laurence took the case into the kitchen, put on the clothes, and returned.

“Excellent, a little on the scruffy side. When we get your makeup done you will be Laurence of old. They’ll have no idea what new Laurence looks like.”

“Are we going to answer questions?” Laurence asked.

“You are. They won’t care about Theresa because she’s my daughter and nothing to do with you.”

“What sort of answers do you want me to give?”

“Truthful ones, but avoid answers that give hints as to where you live or can be found or what your intentions are for the future.”

“They’ll already know about the New York apartment and the Palm Beach house,” he said.

“Nothing we can do about New York, unless you want to sell it.”

“No.”