‘I like it like this. Stop!’ he yelled as she tried to gather up the cups with the dregs of coffee in them. ‘Stop touching things, just leave it!’
‘It’s not like you’re going to get any better offers.’ Artie smiled, locating an ashtray under a heap of yellowing newspapers.
‘Thanks for pointing that out,’ she said sarcastically. ‘I don’t know, I don’t really do human interest stuff anymore...’
‘You don’t ‘do’ human interest, huh? Well, from where I’m standin’ sweetheart, you don’t ‘do’ politics anymore either. Maybe you shoulda thought about what you should and shouldn’t do before you hooked up with a married politician?’
Scarlett was miserable. She’d battled her way out of her house amid cameras and reporters shouting and laughing at her. She realised how stupid she had been, to think that two high profile people could conduct an affair and that it would never come out. ‘The truth will out.’ It seemed the old adage was right. She deserved no sympathy, she knew that, but she just wanted to yell at the gathered reporters, ‘It wasn’t all me, you know! He pursued me! He’s the one who made a promise to someone else, not me!’ Thankfully, she never did, knowing how much they would love it. The endless hours spent on the pavement outside her house would be worth it for just one crazy emotional outburst. She battled her way through them and made sure her car key was in her hand this time.
She managed to lose the tail they put on her by zigzagging around the back streets, and she endured all that to listen to Artie making her feel worse than she did already. She knew her career was over. She didn’t need him to drive it home so forcefully.
‘Look, it’s all the same to me who does it. I got plenty of young cubs out there who are writing classifieds for lost dogs who’d bite my hand off for this. I just thought you got bills to pay, you need a job, maybe somewhere to lay low for a while... My mistake. Forget it!’
Scarlett got up to leave and looked out into the newspaper offices beyond. The floor space was bright and modern with computer screens everywhere. So much had changed since she had started out here. Though he knew he had to move with the times, the dramatic overhaul of the main offices was resisted fiercely by Artie, so his office was the only thing that hadn’t changed in the ten years since she walked in the door, looking for a bit of experience. Could she do anything else? She knew the answer. Journalism was in her blood. She couldn’t imagine another career. Artie was giving her a lifeline when there were no other offers on the table. She would be foolish to turn it down.
‘Ok. Gimmie the address.’
Artie handed her the piece of paper and put his arm around her shoulders. Scarlett was used to gruff, cranky Artie, so she hoped he wasn’t going to be nice to her. It would only set off the tears again.
‘Look, kid, I know this ain’t easy, with hacks outside your house and everything, but they’ll get bored. And this Morgan guy, he ain’t worth your tears. You deserve better.’
Chapter 7
She tried to avoid putting on the TV or radio once she got home, but she had inadvertently seen the headlines when she stopped for gas and a few groceries. They were really going to town on Charlie, and her name was journalistic manna from heaven. Every pun and alliteration possible were being trotted out.
Though she had sworn to herself that she wouldn’t, she had given in and texted Charlie back a few times since it all happened, but still there was no way to see each other without the press getting hold of it. He said he missed her and longed to see her but he couldn’t. The stabbing pain of betrayal was dulling to a gnawing ache and she was at least able to breathe. She convinced herself that he didn’t betray her, not really. She tried not to think of him at home with Julia and the kids. He hadn’t moved out of the family home, according to the reports, and she wondered what was going on in there. She imagined him sleeping in the spare room, thinking about her and wishing he was in her house, in bed with her instead of living with the cold disdain of perfect Julia. Both Charlie and Julia came from powerful political families, and they were experts at manipulating the press. They’d pose a united front, but surely she must have asked him if he loved Scarlett, and he would have had to tell her the truth. He couldn’t lie about that to his wife’s face. She knew he couldn’t.
Standing at her kitchen window after the meeting with Artie, she admired the scene outside. One of the reasons she loved this house was because it backed onto a communal yard with lovely mature trees. She watched a woman, a neighbour presumably, playing with her children in the newly fallen leaves. She didn’t know anyone in the area. She had so rarely been home since she bought the house six months before, and when she was there, she was working. Socialising with her neighbours wasn’t something that appealed to her. Though in fairness, she thought she should contact the owners association to apologise for the intrusion of the reporters. They were always dropping leaflets in her door about meetings to improve amenities and stuff like that. She would drop them an email later.
Charlie would have been all for that kind of thing; being involved, knowing your neighbours. ‘All politics is local’ was one of his mantras. Charlie, there he was again. If he was here, he would have asked her for the name of the chairman of the owners association so he could send him a Christmas card. Another of his theories, that people vote for personalities, not policies, seemed to be depressingly accurate. They would forgive him, eventually, but she would be the ‘Scarlett Woman’ forever. Somehow, she was sure, Sam would manage to turn this into a PR exercise. Charlie will be truly sorry, probably find God, and be forgiven. He and Julia will appear on some chat show where he will look contrite and grateful, and she’ll be stoic and kind, love the sinner but hate the sin garbage. How often she and Charlie had laughed about such turnarounds with others who fell from grace. The nation will love Julia even more for standing by her man. The word ‘vows’ will be mentioned more than once in the interview, and God will, of course, be invoked, and everything will be fine. They will be stronger as a couple because of it. She could almost write the script.
She, on the other hand, would be left to burn in the fires of hell for all eternity, to use her mother’s language. Julia wasn’t who he wanted. She knew that in her heart. Charlie loved her. She knew he did and she loved him, but his last text had said he had to do this for America. It was a bit corny but she knew what he meant. The Democrats needed to win the next election. Under the Republicans, the country was becoming a gun crazed nation, among other problems, and if Charlie and the other Democrats could just gain control, then they could solve so many problems.
Lorena had, mercifully, stayed away after that first failed attempt to get in the door. The daily prayer, seeking forgiveness from God, as a text message was quite enough. Lorena in real life would be more than she could bear. It was bad enough to be facing humiliation, unemployment, and mortgage foreclosure, without adding her hysterically Catholic mother into the deal.
Scarlett only had one option now, and that was to do something with this burglary story.
The name she had been given for one of the victims was a Mrs Eileen Chiarello, and she lived on a side street in the Richmond Hill area of Queens. The cops had told Artie that the burglars were targeting older people, so the piece was to serve as a public notice to the elderly to be more conscious of security. They were approaching local newspapers in all five boroughs to try to promote safety in the home for older people. Scarlett smiled. She had forgotten just how much public service was a part of local newspapers. It was a long way from the cut and thrust of political analysis.
She called and spoke to a woman who sounded old and a little distracted, and arranged an appointment for the next day. She urged her to call the newspaper office to verify she was who she said she was, and when she gave the woman her name, she waited for the inevitable comment about it. Mrs Chiarello made no remark. Was it possible that someone in the world had not seen that stupid movie? She had considered changing her name a while ago, but as she c
limbed the ladder, she realised her name had become a brand, much as she loathed it. She’d heard all the jokes a hundred times, and if she had a buck for every smart ass man who said, ‘Frankly my dear, I don’t give a damn’, to her, she’d be a very wealthy woman. How people reacted to her name often told Scarlett a lot about them.
Chapter 8
She dressed in jeans and a shirt. Her power wardrobe was of no use to her now. Over the years she’d grown to accept her distinctly Irish colouring and stopped trying to change it. Her hair was the first thing Charlie said he noticed about her. He used to say she reminded him of a Celtic goddess. She remembered one time he bought her a beautiful miniature painting of an Irish queen, called Gráinne Uaile. He said she was a sailor or a patroness of the sea or something from Ireland.
As she drove to the address Artie had given her, she spotted a guy drunk and shouting on the sidewalk. A kid stood at one side of him, and she was instantly transported back to her childhood. Her heart went out to the little boy; she knew exactly how he felt: embarrassed, frightened, and worried.
She remembered what it was like when she was young, usually running, to avoid Dan in one of his rages, to Andrus Park where she would sit on the swing until it got dark. Lorena always knew where to find her, and had her prepared to run from her father as soon as she was old enough. She would sit on a swing, singing hymns to herself to block out the thought that maybe this time her mother wouldn’t come, that Dan would kill her.
She wondered what would have happened if he had killed her mother. She was seriously injured so many times that it seemed unlikely that she would survive. He didn’t often hurt Scarlett, but watching him battering Lorena was enough. When she was very small, too young to run to the park, she would hide under the table, and close her eyes tightly and put her hands over her ears. From her hiding place she would see what was left of their crockery smashed, movie pictures torn from the walls. One time he tore the leg off a kitchen chair and laid into Lorena with that. She was in hospital for about three weeks then, and Scarlett went to a children’s home in Queens. She remembered that home as really lovely, with kind people working there. The food was delicious and the other kids were fun. One day they were even taken to Coney Island. It was the best day of her life.
The day Lorena came to get her, a few weeks later with the bruises on her face a horrible purpley-yellow, and limping badly, Scarlett wished she would just go away. She wanted to stay in that home forever. That day she swore that when she grew up she’d buy a lovely house in Queens. The place always meant something to her, so when she was at last in a position to buy a house, she chose that borough without hesitation. Charlie laughed at her choice, claiming she was more of a Manhattan chick, than someone who belonged in a solid blue-collar, hard working but not particularly glamorous community. But Charlie never understood, Queens to her meant safety. She was surprised to realise that Mrs Chiarello lived very near that children’s home.
Scarlett pulled up outside the small neat bungalow. Richmond Hill bordered the affluent Forrest Hills area of Queens, and while it was not as upmarket an area as its neighbour, it certainly wasn’t the projects. This bright, well maintained little suburb looked like it was home to lots of older people and couples with small kids who were no doubt out at work all day. A perfect target for burglars. Richmond Hill was also firmly in the commuter belt, so Scarlett surmised that people parked their cars here and caught the subway downtown to avoid the extortionate parking rates in the city. Vehicles coming and going wouldn’t be noticed. Old men and women shuffled along the sidewalk with their newspapers and little dogs, it being a Saturday, and kids rode their bikes and hung out at street corners. All around Scarlett, people walked, jogged, rollerbladed by, music pumping from their iPhones through expensive headphones.
She was surprised at the sudden rush of affection she felt for her city. Queens was like a little snapshot of life in this big, noisy, rude but exhilarating metropolis. You had everything in New York, the best and the worst of existence all pushing forward together. You could be forgiven for thinking no-one cared about anyone else if you were to try to shove your way onto the subway during rush hour or try to get served at a lunchtime deli without elbowing and jumping ahead, but then 9/11 changed all that. The horror of the attack touched every one of the 8.3 million New Yorkers. No matter what age, ethnicity or social class, the people of this iconic world famous city were shaken to the core by the terrorist attacks. Ironically, the attacks had the effect of making New Yorkers feel closer to each other. Artie always used to say, ‘nothing unites like common adversity,’ and he was right.
The house was quiet with no sign of life. The drapes were pulled closed and there was no car in the small driveway. She fought feelings of despair at being reduced to this kind of story again as she approached the small neat house. The doorbell was a ceramic one with a floral pattern on it, the porch surrounded by pots of brightly coloured flowers. Hanging baskets and window boxes offered a profusion of colour as she waited. Through the frosted glass, she could make out a small figure approaching the door. As the door opened, Scarlett tried to sound non-threatening.
‘Good morning, Mrs Chiarello?’
The old lady shook her silver head. She seemed frail and furtive.
‘I don’t need anything, dear.’ As she went to close the door, Scarlett realised the woman was even older than she imagined.
‘No Ma’am, I’m not selling anything… I just…’
‘I’m a Catholic all my life,’ the woman went on, ‘so I see no reason to change now. Now if you’ll excuse me…’
‘I’m Scarlett O’Hara. We spoke on the phone? I’m from the Yonkers Express.’
The woman seemed to relax and opened the door a bit wider.
‘Oh yes, of course. I’m sorry. It’s just that I’ve been burglarized and I...’ the old lady was visibly upset and Scarlett felt sorry for her.
‘I would ask you in but the place is really in a state. I need to tidy up and see what’s been taken… Perhaps you could come back… I’ve been in the hospital, you see...’
Scarlett thought quickly. She had to bring this story back to Artie today. He thought she was pathetic enough already without her showing up without the copy.
‘How about you let me in and we can take a look together?’
‘Well, perhaps, I don’t know. You see, the police called my doctor who insisted I go to the hospital. The person who robbed me knocked me over as he left. I banged my head and I hurt my wrist when I fell, but I’m fine. I was coming in from doing a little shopping when I disturbed him, obviously. I was very shaken, as you can imagine, so I’ve only just got home, and I don’t even know where to start to be honest…’ Tears were forming in her eyes.
Scarlett felt such an urge to strangle the scumbag that did this. How could people like that look at themselves in the mirror after doing such a cowardly thing?
‘You could call the paper and check I am who I say I am, if you like. I’m happy to help you out. I don’t have anything else to do today.’ Scarlett realised she sounded a little desperate, but she really did want to help this lady. The woman eyed her keenly, weighing up whether or not to trust her. Seconds passed and eventually the woman moved aside and ushered Scarlett into the house.
She was shown to a sunny kitchen at the back of the house, and immediately Scarlett was struck by the mess. The house had been turned upside down. Crockery and foodstuffs were strewn all over the floor. The stand where a TV had once stood was now bare, the electrical cables wrenched from the wall. The small appliances had been robbed. The burglars had emptied food and liquids all over the floor, and sticky syrup was dripping from the countertop.
‘They got my jewellery from my bedroom. It wasn’t much but it meant a lot to me, and my TV and… oh, I don’t know, everything… and something else. Something I think they took, that...’ The old lady’s voice shook as she tried to come to terms with what had happened.
‘Look, why do
n’t you sit down. I’ll make you some coffee or tea and I’ll start to clear this place up. Have you got house insurance?’
The woman nodded.
‘Well then, I know this is a terrible shock to get. It’s a horrible thing to happen, but we can put this right, and the insurance will pay out to replace anything valuable. You’ll probably end up with better stuff.’ She smiled at her little joke, trying to raise Mrs Chiarello’s spirits.
‘But you have enough to do I’m sure. I couldn’t ask you to…’
Scarlett raised her hand to stop her. ‘My life isn’t exactly full to the brim with social engagements right now, so I don’t actually have anything else to do. And I’d like to help, ok? Now let’s get this coffee going.’
Scarlett busied herself trying to find cups, most of them had been smashed.
‘Tea please, Scarlett, if you don’t mind, I never liked coffee. This really is extraordinarily kind of you, I feel terrible taking up your time like this.’
Scarlett prattled soothingly about how helpful the insurance company were sure to be and how even though it looked awful now, they’d have the place tidied up in no time. The old lady just sat amid the ruins of her little kitchen, fighting tears.
‘I wonder if your living room might be more comfortable for you?’ Scarlett asked. The kitchen was destroyed and looking at the devastation seemed to be upsetting Mrs Chiarello further.
‘Yes, I… well, I went in there with the policeman, but to be honest I was in a bit of a shock. I think it’s a bit better. I’ve just got back from the hospital, you see, just before you arrived. The police were asking me what had been taken at the time, but I couldn’t really focus. I’m sorry, you must think I’m a crazy old lady.’ She half smiled.
‘Not at all,’ Scarlett reassured her. ‘I’d be exactly the same. It’s horrible to have someone come into your home, to go through your things, no wonder you’re a little disoriented. It’s natural after what you’ve been through. I’ll tell you what, why don’t we go through to the living room? You can have your tea and when you’re feeling a little better, we’ll see what we can do to get this place back into how it should be, ok?’
Jean Grainger Box Set: So Much Owed, Shadow of a Century, Under Heaven's Shining Stars Page 41
