by Celia Hayes
I nodded.
He smiled.
«You’re a clever woman, Madison».
He put a hand on the car door, and handed me a calling card. «That’s my office line. If you change your mind, call me».
He walked away, went back to that grey Cadillac, parked askew half on the pavement. Someone had left a flyer under the wiper. He balled it up and turned to look at me. «I’ll read your column next Saturday».
I lowered my eyes on that photo I’d been holding for a while.
It was a candid shot.
It was taken from a door left ajar, into what looked like the changing room of a gym. Nolan was there, and he was kissing the girl with the runny mascara that had attacked me at the Meridian Cafe. Liza Raisman.
What a cliché, to ruin a man by making his lover angry.
Sixteen
The Friday evening I had one of those charity galas I couldn’t miss. Two hundred dollars to eat pre-frozen fish and get a photo with the mayor.
Nolan brought me with him, our first official outing together.
I’d brushed up, red dress, gold earrings. I’d stared at myself in the mirror before we went out. Nolan had come close. He was wearing a dark suit that brought out the colour of his eyes.
«Are you ready?»
He was so handsome I couldn’t look at him.
«Almost».
He’d run my hand up my back, ending up on the shoulder of my dress.
«You put this on for me?»
«I know that Hollywood star is going to be there, what’s his name?»
«He’s dead».
I pretended I was relaxed, he pretended he was joking.
«Are you scared he’ll steal me from you?,» I’d asked.
Nolan had clasped a white gold necklace around my neck.
I’d stroked the pendant as if it was burning.
«Why did you get this?»
«So that you’ll keep thinking of my hands touching you even when I can’t do it».
He’d brushed his lips against my shoulder.
I no longer wanted to go out. I’d turned to look at him, tense.
«Let’s stay home».
He’d shaken his head. «Everyone must know».
«What?»
He’d kissed me.
We’d gone down without a rush. Around nine, twenty minutes late, Nolan had opened the door of the limousine for me and had sat next to me, taking advantage of the trip to make a couple phone calls. He was holding my hand as we made our way through the city. I was following the news on my tablet.
At nine forty-five we were sat at our table. With us were two shareholders from the BNG Group and an entrepreneur from Houston. I knew none of them and none of them paid me any attention. They were following what was being said on the stage, where the organisers of the evening took turns to speak, mostly of business.
Nolan listened without comment, for the most part. I thought part of his success was precisely because he never let anything out. He controlled what he said, kept his emotions in check as if everything he did was a ruse, and he knew every word of a script he’d rehearsed to the death.
That evening was the opening night of his performance.
The curtain had lifted under the flashes of the journalists’ cameras.
Nolan Carter had presented himself to his audience, and the room had gone crazy. Everyone was curious to meet him, especially because Nolan had never shown himself publicly, except briefly, before then.
I kept to his side, and withstood the interest of the press like a necessary disruption.
How many times had I been on the other side, camera in hand?
I was calm, I was prepared for my five minutes of fame, but still couldn’t find my place in all of that, now that I was a topic for conversation. I could imagine the questions the people sat around me were asking themselves, the thoughts they were thinking. I wasn’t rich enough to be able to afford a boyfriend like Nolan, therefore it was likely that I was just a fleeting pastime that would only give rise to a brief wave of gossip. He’d spend some time on me before he met the daughter of some senator, or perhaps a human rights lawyer. Nolan could have married a woman like that, not me. It was clear he was only having sex with me, so I behaved like a lover. I stood by his side, smiled when the cameras flashed, disappeared when people were talking.
In the end I found myself sitting alone in a corner.
I looked around, feeling oddly nervous. I saw Doc, and Greta. They were on the opposite side of the room, at the press tables. I don’t know if they’d noticed me, they didn’t say hi.
I should have been with them, but for once I was living that life. But there was a weight on my heart, and my legs were shaky.
«Are you all right?,» Nolan asked me, after a while.
The dinner was over, and he’d noticed that something was wrong.
I shook my head and walked away.
«I just need the toilet a moment».
I looked back before leaving him, through the crowd. I could see nothing.
I had to wet my hands and rinse my face.
It was half past eleven. Sometimes months can elapse without you noticing, sometimes you count every minute. That evening I was down to counting seconds.
Two girls entered the bathroom, followed by Allyson Carter.
Allyson was the patroness of the evening. She was fifty and on her fourth husband. She collected wedding rings and alimony checks.
«Madison Hill, of Gossip – Bake up?»
She recognised me. I smiled.
«Yes, it’s me».
«I love your dress». She glanced at it, as he dried her hands with a towel.
«Thank you».
I tried to pull away, but couldn’t. Allyson started chatting me up. She seemed enthusiastic, she was usually the kind of person who got involved with things easily, and she loved being the centre of attention.
«They’re going to give Nolan an award for supporting research,» she told me, ecstatic. «Such a charming man. I’d love to thank him in person».
«I’m sure he’ll be happy to,» I assured her. I hadn’t thought that might be her way of asking for an appointment, and I’d just said yes.
«Let’s organise it then,» she got excited, you could tell she was dying to talk to him. I thought that was why she’d followed me into the bathroom, to organise a meeting with the man of the moment. I was truly the only open window on his world, and I’d realised it in those last few days; the only link between Nolan and the city were my clothes strewn on his floor.
I ran away from that bathroom, from Allyson Carter, and almost by accident came back into the room as Nolan was being called to the stage. He had to receive an award or something like that. He’d mentioned it, but I admit I wasn’t listening.
I didn’t want to go back to the table and spend that moment with people I didn’t know, so I kept to a corner.
«Can I help you?»
«No, thanks».
«Can I bring you anything?»
«I’m all right, really».
I sent the waiter away and listened to Nolan’s speech. I didn’t record it this time, my phone was locked in my purse. But from the point I was standing, in half shadow, I could watch the guests without anyone noticing.
Everyone was entranced, you could notice it at first glance. Not because of what he was saying but because of the charme of his gestures. The way he looked at the audience was sensual, caressing. Nolan was dangerous, disarming, and had innate charisma. Women looked at him hoping for a night with him, men wished they were like him.
But none of them had understood anything about Nolan. And I hated every single person sitting at those tables.
I hated the whole town, that night.
I even considered walking away, disappearing, not letting them find me.
When Nolan left the stage and people stopped him to talk to him, I realised I’d left the room without even thinking, unable to stand looking at that scene.
> Two strong hands stopped me, or I would have run.
«Your table is down there».
I turned.
«Doc...»
He’d come looking for me.
«Go back in, Madison, it’s not over yet,» he reminded me.
I begged him with my eyes to let me go, but he couldn’t step away.
«You’re still representing the Sunset».
I went back in, thinking of the way it had all started. A party in a club, in a skyscraper in the city centre. It ended now, two weeks later, at another party, not that different, this time in a club by the sea.
Everyone was doing something when I’d sought refuge on that terrace, when I’d first met Nolan. People eating, people chatting in a corner, people having fun. It was the same now.
There was only one difference.
Now I was aware of the eyes following me around, the mouths whispering my name when I walked by.
At last I saw my town in its real skin: a slimy snake crawling through the dust. Ready to pounce on its prey, it waited. You had to choose what side you were on. Whether you were a mouse or a reptile.
I’d made my choice already. I couldn’t go back this time.
I drew a deep breath and faced the only person I’d been running from: myself.
How many times had I told myself I should change? Go away, find something else to do? But no matter how much we want to fight against ourselves, we are what we are. Some people for the better, some, like me, for the worst. I was used to adapting, not having a shape of my own, nothing but a pen in my hand. I used that pen to paint the picture of a person I was not, because I realise that night that inside I was as black as ink.
I was a stain engulfing everything I touched.
I found myself inside again. I walked between the tables.
«I was looking for you».
Nolan’s eyes were smiling when I reached it at the centre of the glittering room, my dress as red as blood.
He took my hand, rubbed my back. «Four years I’ve waited for this moment,» he whispered in my ear.
He was the true owner of the town.
I pulled away from him, suddenly distant. «I don’t know how you can bear it,» I replied, coldly.
He looked at me, perplexed. «What’s wrong?»
«Nothing».
His expression changed, and I suspected Nolan knew exactly what was happening.
We were like that, we didn’t need to talk like everybody else. One touch was enough.
«Do you want to dance?,» he asked.
I didn’t want to, but I realised at a glance that he wouldn’t let me refuse. I placed my hand on his and nodded.
Nolan led me among the couples gathering by the stage, as the orchestra played over the murmuring of the crowd. He held me close, tight against his tailored shirt.
That hand on my back was like a brand on my heart. His smell. His warmth.
The song ended and I stepped away, realising I would miss his voice.
I would miss it terribly.
«Nolan...»
I don’t know why I was calling him. There was no longer anything I could do for him.
There were so many people that night, it felt stifling hot. Only if you paid attention you could notice the cops starting to make their way through the crowd.
Matthew Cosgrove reached us, followed by two cops out of uniform. They tried not to stand out, but by that point they were hard to miss. Some kind of electricity started crackling among the guests. They could feel something was about to happen.
Nolan ran his eyes over the room, smiling calmly. Then he looked at me, brushed my cheek with his hand.
«You’ve always been a bad liar».
I pushed him away. My eyes were empty, my soul cracking in a thousand tiny shards.
«It’s over,» I whispered.
He sighed. «It’s just beginning».
He said nothing else.
In that moment the police was with him, in a second. They surrounded him, as if he was an armed terrorist. An excess of force that I thought was fully deliberate. It was Matthew’s revenge. He arrived in that moment and drew closer, touching my arm.
It wasn’t a random gesture. It was a message for Nolan, to inform him what side I was on.
«Nolan Carter, you’re under arrest,» he stated.
Journalists flocked around us like vultures. A volley of flashes engulfed us.
«Mr Cosgrove». Nolan greeted him without his composure cracking. You would have thought he’d barely noticed the gesture. But I knew he’d seen it, and Matthew knew it too.
«Don’t tell me, you weren’t expecting to see me here?,» Cosgrove anticipated him, with a sneer. «I hope you don’t mind following me to the station, though I’m afraid I might have spoiled your night».
«Were you holding a grudge?,» Nolan laughed.
«Me?,» Matthew pretended not to get it. «I’m just doing my job. I’m only following the law».
«Can I know under what charges you’re taking me away?»
«You’re an interesting personality, Mr Carter,» Matthew cautioned him. «You’re a respected millionaire in the day, but at night, when no one can see you, you’re a ruthless drug dealer». Those words got Cosgrove the attention of the press. Nolan kept behaving as if his arrest was just a misunderstanding.
«Nice story. I’d be curious to know where you read it».
«An interesting piece just came out on the Sunset. I’ll show you in the car,» Cosgrove promised, and dragged him out, holding him by the arm.
When Nolan walked by me, he had a few moment to look at me, to get into his mind the image of the woman who had destroyed his life not once, but twice. The first time as Christopher Dunn, and the second as Nolan Carter.
«So, Nolan Carter, was this what you wanted?» I stared at him, ice in my glare, resentment in my heart.
He held his breath, then whispered in my ear.
«I only wanted you».
They took him away.
I didn’t see him again that night. I don’t even remember how the rest of the night went.
I know at one point I was sitting at the bar with a gin in my hand. No, maybe it was tequila.
Then a glass of champagne. Or two.
Then a vodka lemon and, I think, two Bloody Marys. But I’ve never been great with names.
I was the star of the evening now.
We’d gone out to press at midnight, we’d be out in the shops only at dawn, but early copies were already circulating and everyone was talking about my column: “Everything I know about you – Nolan Carter unmasked”.
I’d got the cover of the magazine by telling the story of Christopher Dunn, a drug dealer who had found himself with a stash of twenty million dollars and he’d bought himself a new life.
I’d put everything I’d found out in the column. The story about Richardson, the photos with Liza. I’d even written about the gun I’d found in the drawer of his desk.
I hadn’t held back, laying on the implications, the accusations. The city had woken up, indignant, humiliated. They would get rid of him, they wouldn’t leave even a scrap of Nolan.
In the meantime, they shook my hand, complimented me on my scoop, asking me how I’d managed it.
It was a demented evening.
I’d brought a fugitive to justice and I’d become Madison Hill, the mantis. I don’t know who’d thought of calling me that, but it immediately became my nickname.
The Sunset sold more copies that week than in the previous ten years.
I had just become a celebrity.
But that evening I left the club unsteady on my heels, completely drunk.
A taxi dropped me at home around three AM.
I took my shoes off on the pavement before heading up.
«Hey, aren’t you the woman from Gossip – Bake Up?»
A passer-by stopped me. I was still wearing that blood-red dress. He must have seen me on TV, around midnight I’d ended up on all the news, when
Nolan’s arrest had been broadcast. No one would talk about anything else, for months.
«Yes...» I murmured, heading for the stairs.
«Damn, you served that guy right!» He complimented me, or something like that.
«They pay me to make a scandal, I’m good at it,» I murmured.
I went through the door of the brownstone and took the elevator to my floor. I was on the third. Two rooms, a balcony. A bathroom I shared with a cat named Zero that I didn’t even own.
I opened the door to my apartment that night and I crumbled against the wall.
Snow had started falling again, unendingly, covering things and people.
I ripped the white gold necklace from my neck and fell on my knees.
I was crying. My soul was in tatters, my heart burnt out. I wasn’t used to any of that. Nothing important had ever happened to me. My life was like any other. Mediocre. I was like any other girl. I was pretty, I was brazen, I wore too-short skirts, little make-up and no bra, if I felt like it. One evening I’d met a guy at a party. I liked him and I’d said yes.
Should have been nothing, the usual story repeating.
You meet a guy, you sleep with him, you forget him the next day.
But that story had consumed me, and now there was nothing of me left.
It had started with nothing, too.
But this time that nothing had swallowed me up, even though from that day I would stop being a nobody and would become Madison Hill, the city’s voice. Madison, the mantis.
That’s how it went.
I told you, I don’t expect you to understand. I just told you how it ended. If you don’t agree with it, you’d done better to stop listening. I had warned you, if I’m not wrong.
Epilogue
«In here».
An agent opened the heavy door to the interrogation room. They let the suspect in.
Aside from the handcuffs, he was an elegant man. He was wearing a tailored suit and a Rolex.
Detective Green was waiting for him. He had with him agents Morrison and Lasco, from Homicides.
«Please sit,» he asked. «So, you are...» He checked on his file. «I can read here it’s Nolan Carter, born Christopher Dunn. You’re suspected of homicide, fraud, extortion, blackmail, unlawful possession of a firearm». The list went on. He rubbed at his forehead. Not the best kind of a Saturday night. He looked at the suspect. «Have you got anything to say?»
