Her Name Will Be Faith

by Christopher Nicole

  “You do.” Still JC did not raise his voice. “You acted on your own initiative despite an express directive from me to the contrary?”

  “I felt it to be necessary, sir, in view of the direction Hurricane Faith is now taking.”

  “Has she changed speed or track since last we spoke?”

  “Not to my knowledge, sir. But…”

  “So, she still cannot reach New York for another 24 hours at the earliest, right?”

  “Well, sir…”

  “Thus the circumstances are exactly the same as when I gave you definite instructions last night, are they not?”

  “They are, sir, except that the hurricane is now that much closer, and she could quicken up. There is simply no way of telling.”

  “Just as there is no way of telling if she might suddenly stop, or turn away. Richard, has it occurred to you that the National American Broadcasting Service may well have to face severe censure — and withdrawal of advertising revenue as a consequence — for what you have done? You have deliberately created a panic situation without the slightest justification.”

  “I disagree, Mr White. I think I had every justification. In fact I think I, we, the service, had a responsibility, in view of the facts in our possession.”

  “Richard, I would like you to clear out your desk and be off the studio premises by seven o’clock this morning. Your employment is terminated as of this moment. I will call my lawyers on Monday and have them advise me on whether, in the circumstances, we are under any obligation to buy out your contract. I doubt, in view of the utter irresponsibility of your action, your flagrant disregard of a directive from the company president, that they will consider that a necessity. Now remember, Richard, I do not want you on any property owned or controlled by me after seven o’clock this morning. Or you will be charged with trespass, in addition to whatever other charges the police may be intending to bring against you. Have a good day.” The phone went dead.

  Richard looked at it, then at Julian, then at a wind-swept and rain-drenched Jayme, who had just come in and was peeling off a slippery anorak. “Hi,” she said. “Do you have any idea what it’s like out there?”

  “I thought I told you to leave town?” Richard demanded.

  “Well, I was going to do that… but then I decided I should be with you guys. The fact is, I abandoned my automobile. There’s an eight-mile tail back through the Hudson Tunnel. They’re bumper to bumper and jammed solid. I’ve been walking for the past hour, in the rain. You could at least seem happy to see me.”

  “I always thought you were a natural blonde,” Julian remarked.

  Jayme surveyed the black line through her dripping hair in her compact mirror. “Needs touching up, doesn’t it?” she agreed, and looked over her shoulder at Richard. “What’s the matter with you, then?”

  “I have just been fired.”

  “Oh. Ah… I’ll make some coffee.”

  “Silly old bastard,” Julian grunted. “Let’s hope Faith scores a direct hit on his part of Long Island, just as Gloria did. Only he’s so goddamned lucky he probably won’t even have a tree down. I don’t think he lost any in Gloria, either. What are you going to do?”

  “Stay right here until this thing is over.”

  “But…”

  “Sure, he says he’ll charge me with trespass if I’m here after seven. So let him.”

  The phone buzzed.

  “But if that’s him,” Richard said, “you’d better tell him you’re in charge.”

  “Yeah,” Julian said, uncertainly, and picked it up. “Summers. Oh, hi. Yes, he’s here.” He handed it over. “Your friend Hammond.”

  “Mark!” Richard shouted, then flipped on the open speaker and returned the handset.

  “I’ve been trying to get you for damn near an hour,” Mark said. He sounded at once tired and aggrieved — but also excited.

  “Well, the line’s been kind of busy. What do you have?”

  “What do I have,” Mark said. “I got back just after midnight. Christ, I have never been in anything like that, and I sure as hell hope I am never in anything like that again. Write down these co-ordinates.”

  Richard grabbed a pad and pencil and wrote, then frowned. “Hold on, old buddy, that can’t be right. We got a ten o’clock update from Coral Gables which placed her 280 miles south-east of us. These figures make her only 240. And you say you got them just before midnight? Faith has moved 40 miles in two hours?”

  “That’s what I’m telling you,” Mark said. “She has suddenly put her skates on, and turned some more, and she is moving north-west at 20 knots.”

  “Holy shitting cows,” Julian commented.

  “And then some.”

  “But that means she’ll be with us… Christ, at two o’clock this afternoon,” Richard said.

  “I reckon so,” Mark agreed. “But that ain’t all. Sustained winds are 180 miles an hour plus.”

  “Say again?”

  “You heard me, buddy boy. I damn near lost the ship. Listen, I’m going out again at dawn. I’ll call you again when I get back. Right now I’m aiming for a little sleep. Can you use the data?”

  “Use it,” Richard said. “God Almighty! 180 miles per hour. You ever heard of that before?”

  “Can’t say I have. As they say, it’s gonna be a great time in the old town tonight. Or rather, this afternoon. If I were you, buddy boy, I’d head for the Catskills. See you.”

  The phone went dead, and the three of them stared at each other.

  “Tides,” Richard snapped. “Holy Christ, tides!”

  “Jayme,” Julian snapped. “The tide tables.” He snatched the booklet from her hand. “High tide 1.18 this afternoon. And it’s a biggie; more than six feet.”

  “Hell,” Richard said. “Oh, hell.”

  “You reckon this is the biggest storm in all history?” Jayme asked.

  “I don’t know,” Richard said. “But I reckon that we need a new category to describe it: Category Six!”

  Greenwich Village — 1.45 am

  Marcia yawned. “Jees, I can hardly keep my eyes open. Where are we?” She peered through the steamed up windscreen at the deluge outside the automobile, half blinded by the oncoming headlights.

  “Just coming through Stuyvesant Square headed for Houston,” Benny replied briefly, frowning at the traffic.

  “Why Houston? Why didn’t you turn on to 14th, as usual?”

  “Thought this would be quicker.”

  Marcia peered out again. “What the hell’s going on, baby? Will you just look at all this crowd? What time is it?”

  “Not two yet.”

  “Seems like Kitty’s wasn’t the only party. I’m never going to be able to get out of bed in the morning. And I’d so wanted to finish the paintwork in the lounge. It’s looking pretty good, don’t you think?”

  “Great,” was Benny’s absent-minded reply. He was feeling grouchy. The more of these parties they went to, the less he liked them. They had planned to arrive early and leave early, but all the late arrivals had jammed their auto in tight and he and Marcia had realized that they couldn’t get away without breaking up Kitty’s entire evening — so they had returned to the melee, trying to look jolly while bored out of their minds.

  It was 2.15 when they rolled up on to the concrete parking space and they failed to unlock the front door before they were drenched to the skin, while thunder and lightning crashed and flashed around their heads.

  “Phew, this is some storm. Must be an offshoot of that hurricane people were talking about at the party. It’s the same one as hit your folks’ place in the Bahamas, you know.”

  “I know,” Marcia said, for a moment almost sober. Taking Belle out to Bognor had been the most traumatic experience of her life, and of course they were all still mourning poor Lawson… she hadn’t been able to make herself tell Babs about the baby. But heck, life had to go on.

  Benny bolted the door on the inside, leaned against it, and yawned. “What say we take the
phone off the hook and sleep in, huh?”

  “Hiram Korovski is calling early about that idea he had…”

  “That’s why I suggest we disconnect it. I’ll be in no state to discuss Hiram’s ideas till after lunch.”

  “True.” Marcia giggled and rubbed her wet face against his. “Come on, let’s take just one look before we go up.” She pulled his arm towards the lounge door. Together they stood, dripping, to admire their handiwork — the fresh wallpaper which covered all the nail holes, scars left by mindless tenants over the years, the new white paint on door and window frames, and the alcove of shelves by the fireplace, which Marcia planned to finish when she woke up. The four second-hand chairs and the settee stood in the middle of the room with the pile of loose covers and matching drapes, all under an old sheet, waiting to be fixed in place as soon as the paint pots were out of the way. “Whee! Isn’t it exciting?” Marcia hugged Benny’s arm.

  “It’s the best looking lounge in the village.” He kissed her nose. “And when it’s finished, we start on the nursery.” Benny was more excited about the baby than anything else.

  Marcia patted her stomach. “Junior, you are going to have the neatest nursery in New York.” Then she suddenly shivered. “Let’s get out of these wet things. Either I’m catching my death of cold, or a goose just walked over my grave.”

  Long Island — 2.00 am

  “Kiley?” asked J. Calthrop White. “Is that you, Kiley?”

  “For God’s sake…” Kiley started, then realized who was on the other end of the telephone. “Oh, good morning, JC. Kind of early.”

  “Kiley, what the hell have you been doing?”

  “I’ve been sleeping, JC. It’s two o’clock in the morning.”

  “Haven’t you been watching television?”

  “JC, I never watch television, once I get home.”

  “Well, let me tell you that all hell is busting loose out there right this minute.”

  “Oh, you mean the storm. Yeah, I can hear it.”

  “I do not mean the storm. I mean New York is goddamned well running wild. It’s all the fault of that goddamned protégé of yours, Connors. I’ve told him to quit.”

  “You what? JC, I do the hiring and firing.” Outrage at being awakened had given Kiley unusual courage.

  “Well, you weren’t there, were you? And you didn’t know what was going on. But that’s not relevant. Listen to me, Kiley: that asshole may just for once have hit the nail on the head. Seems this storm could hit New York after all, some time this weekend. Now, Kiley, did our bid and the bank guarantee go OK?”

  “Well, no, JC. You told me specifically it was to go on Monday morning so no one could tell in advance what we were offering. Don’t worry, JC, it’ll be faxed out at six o’clock Monday morning. Bids close noon UK time, so it’ll be there spot on.”

  “Kiley, what happens if there are no electrics on Monday morning?”

  “No electrics? Now, really, JC…”

  “According to Connors, this storm could cause a two-day outage.”

  “And you believe that?”

  “I don’t know whether I believe it or not. I know if it happened it could fuck us up. Kiley, I want you to get down to the office right away and put in that bid. So it’ll stay cold until Monday; even if somebody does look at it and tell our competitors it’ll be too late for them to do anything about it.”

  Kiley hesitated, then sighed. “Okay, JC. But all bids have to be supported by bank guarantees. Hunt were going to fax that Monday as well.”

  “Well, they’ll have to do it today.”

  “Saturday?”

  “Get them moving. Get someone down there to do it. Come to think of it… holy shit! I want all our funds moved out, Kiley. Personal accounts too. Get them off someplace inland.”

  “JC, nothing can possibly happen to Wall Street.”

  “Yeah? It’s kind of low down, right? Again, if this asshole Connors is right it could get flooded.”

  “JC, the computers with your accounts in them are in the vaults. Nothing can get into those vaults.”

  “Kiley, those vaults are under ground. I want my money out of there, this morning. Now get on it. Have a good day.” The phone went dead.

  Park Avenue — 2.15 am

  “We might as well leave the bag in Washington’s office while we change,” Jo told the children as they staggered through the glass doors into the lobby of the apartment block. It had been a dreadful walk back through the rain and the strong blustering wind and the teeming streets, and she was exhausted from carrying the heavy suitcase. The children were pretty weary as well, but at least they had had six hours’ sleep before setting off. Orphans of the storm! That was an apt description of them now. It was hard to decide whether to curse the ill luck of the accident or thank God it had happened so close to the apartment. Though they were all soaked to the skin, at least they would be able to change into dry clothes before trying again with Michael’s Cadillac.

  Washington’s office was empty, and she remembered that she had advised him to leave while he could. But it was also unlocked, the light was still burning, and his pens were lying on the desk — so he was clearly still somewhere in the building. She put her suitcase in one corner, and encountered several people in the foyer, clutching bags and hurrying for the basement garage. As was usual in big apartment blocks, Jo hardly knew any of her neighbors, and so she merely summoned up a tired smile. But one of the women apparently knew her by sight, because she shouted, “Mrs Donnelly! Haven’t you heard the news? We’re leaving town. Aren’t you?”

  “I’m trying to,” Jo confessed. “We’ve had an accident. The traffic out there is something else.”

  “You poor girl,” the woman said. “You’re not hurt?” She peered at the children.

  “We’re okay,” Owen Michael said.

  “Well, say,” said the woman’s husband, who was waiting impatiently for his wife to join him at the elevator, “if you want a ride with us, Mrs Donnelly, there’ll be room.”

  “That is awfully kind of you,” Jo said, “but actually I’ve just come back to change my clothes and pick up my husband’s car. Thanks again.”

  She hurried Owen Michael and Tamsin into an ascending car.

  “Say, Mom, is this Hurricane Faith?” Owen Michael asked.

  “Naw,” Tamsin declared before Jo could reply. “Faith was much worse than this.”

  “How much worse?”

  “Oh…” And suddenly she began to cry. She was really scared, as well as wet and miserable. And she had been scared before.

  “Faith isn’t going to hurt you here, darling,” Jo promised her. The car stopped, and they ran into the apartment. “You two change while I get the car keys.” Seeing all those frightened people had increased her sense of urgency, and she had decided against wasting the time to change herself.

  But the keys weren’t in Michael’s desk, their usual resting place. She knew he kept a spare set at the office, but where the others were… she hunted through every pants and jacket pocket in his closet and every drawer in the apartment, while a build-up of panic clawed at her mind, making her catch her breath.

  “They must be in the pants he was wearing when he left,” Owen Michael said logically, emerging from his room in dry clothes. “So we’ll have to take that ride after all, I reckon.”

  “If they’re still there,” Jo muttered. The lousy, rotten bastard, she thought, leaving his car, but taking his keys with him. She called Washington’s office, but there was no reply. “You two stay here,” she told them, and took the elevator down again. Washington could be anywhere, and now the foyer was deserted. So was the basement garage, of people, and there were only one or two cars left as well. One of them was Michael’s gleaming white Cadillac El Dorado. When she looked at it she wanted to scream. And when it slowly dawned on her that probably everyone had left the building, even Washington, she wanted to scream even louder.

  She rode back up to the apartment. “We’ll call
a cab,” she told the children, trying to appear calm and unflustered. She flicked rapidly through the yellow pages — but either the lines were busy or just not answering. Sweat was running down her face as she punched over and over at the same numbers, until at last there was a reply. Hastily she gasped her request.

  “Sorry, lady, but there won’t be nothing available for at least two hours, if then. If you’d like to leave your name and number we’ll get back to you whenever we can.”

  “Forget it,” she said. Two hours! Already the wind was howling outside the plate-glass window. There was only one person she could turn to, now.

  “Who’re you calling now, Mom?” Owen Michael yawned and sat on the settee; Tamsin had already stretched out on her bed and was fast asleep.

  “Mr Connors at the TV studio,” Jo explained. “Just to find out what’s happening. Hello,” she said. “May I speak with Richard Connors, please? I’ll hold.”

  She looked into the street as she waited. The rain had eased temporarily, but the lightning still flashed, and the thunder was continuous, mingling with the whine of the wind. And she was totally shattered, emotionally and physically. She did not think she had ever been so frightened in her life, even if she couldn’t let herself show it to the children. But Richard would be able to help; just to hear his voice would be a reassurance. The girl came back on the line. “Mr Connors isn’t available right now,” she said. “Who’s calling, please?”

  “Ah… it’s Mrs Donnelly. I’ll call him back later,” she said, and replaced the phone, feeling crushed with disappointment. But poor Richard was probably up to his ears in it, and it wasn’t really fair to burden him with her troubles as well — especially as those troubles were because she hadn’t taken his advice… or kept her promise.

  If only she could find those keys. Again she looked down into the street. And having found them, go where? The traffic was worse than when they had come in, and even as she watched there was an accident right outside the apartment building, causing an immediate pile up of vehicles, and an immediate accumulation of angry drivers, shouting at each other and waving their fists.

  Yet she had to get out. She had to find those keys. Not even Michael would be such an idiot as to have taken them with him without the car.