by Camryn King
“Good afternoon. Welcome to Christian’s Kids.”
Mallory walked toward her. “Hi. Good afternoon.”
“How may I help you today?”
“I’m Mallory Knight with the New York News.”
“Hello, Ms. Knight. The assistant director, Ms. Davis, is expecting you.” The worker dialed an office phone, once again moving to the jazzy sounding music coming from small, discreet speakers Mallory now noticed recessed in the ceiling tile.
“Ms. Knight with the New York News is here. Should I send her back or . . .” The woman smiled at Mallory as she listened. “Okay, will do.”
She hung up the phone. “Ms. Davis is just wrapping up a conference call. She’ll be out shortly. Can I get you something to drink while you wait?”
“No, I’m fine.”
“It shouldn’t be that long. You’re welcome to have a seat until she comes out.”
“Okay, thanks.”
Mallory pulled out her tablet and studied the questions she’d prepared for Emma, a professional, well-put-together woman who looked nothing like her name. In Mallory’s mind, the name Emma was an old-fashioned one—and given that her own moniker dated back to the eighth century she could judge—so she was surprised to go online and discover that not only was the center’s assistant director young and beautiful but also a highly educated mother of two with commendations and awards to her credit. She’d been instrumental in formulating a curriculum of tutoring that focused on math and science but was balanced with critical thinking and the arts. Her credentials impressive, but Mallory wanted a variety of opinions regarding the foundation from people who were involved with it. The young woman in front of her, Mallory deduced after looking up once again, was a good place to start.
“Excuse me, what’s your name?”
“Lisa.”
“Lisa, I know you’re working, but do you mind if I ask you a couple questions?”
She turned away from her computer with a smile. Short, natural do. Bright eyes. Pretty girl.
From what all she’d seen of the women around Christian, beauty seemed to be a prerequisite. Mallory walked over to her desk.
“You like working here, obviously.”
“I love it.”
“Do you mind if I ask why, and record your answer? I may use it in an upcoming article.”
“I don’t mind.” Lisa rested her chin in her hand as she thought. “Many reasons, actually. First of all, I love kids. I have a little boy that’s two years old. I can’t wait to bring him here. It’s a really positive environment. Everyone is so friendly, so helpful, like family. The kids are great. Working here make you feel valuable, like you can actually make a difference in someone’s life. I go home feeling . . . good. Yeah, that’s it.”
The door behind them opened, one that blended in so well with the colorful stripes and bright posters that Mallory hadn’t even noticed. She immediately recognized Emma from the pics on the web.
“Hello, Mallory.” She continued toward her arm outstretched. “Emma Davis.”
“Hi, Emma. So nice to meet you.”
“Likewise.” She turned to Lisa. “If he calls, find me.”
“Absolutely, Ms. Davis.”
“Thanks.” She turned to Mallory. “Sorry to keep you waiting. I was on the phone with the director, Pete, who sends his apologies for not being able to meet you himself.”
“I believe he left me in good hands.”
Emma smiled. “The tour won’t take long.”
“Sure, one moment.” Mallory reached into her bag and turned to Lisa. “I wanted to give you my business card. Do you have one?”
“Yes.” Lisa opened her desk and gave one to Mallory.
“Thanks.”
“Am I going to be in your column?” Lisa asked.
Mallory smiled. “Probably.” Mallory followed Emma out of the office. “I hope it was okay to speak with her.”
“Lisa’s a sweet girl with a bright future. Hopefully she provided you with some good material.”
“She gave the foundation glowing reviews.”
“Everyone loves it here. Christian is kind, honest, respectful of others, compassionate . . .”
“Wait, are we talking about Christian Don’t-Give-a-Damn Graham? No offense, but—”
“None taken. Christian can come across a bit rudely at times. Arrogant at others. What the average person doesn’t understand is the pressure he’s under, and the lengths some go to try and meet him. There’s a reason Biggie said more money, more problems. Yes, being a pro athlete is lucrative, the lifestyle, glamourous. But it’s not as easy as it looks, and not for the faint of heart.”
“Duly noted.” Then, remembering Charlie’s concern for a pro-positive approach, she added, “That he has a foundation like this speaks to the character beneath the bravado.”
“I’m glad you recognize that. He truly loves these kids.”
“Where are the students?”
“On the second level, where our after-school program is housed.”
“It would be great to speak with them. I promised Christian to use only first names, or keep them totally anonymous if that’s preferred.”
“Depends on who’s here.” Emma offered a brief smile. “We’ll see.”
They walked down a long hall with what Mallory assumed were offices on either side and through a set of double doors, a large, open space with tall ceilings and rows of windows set high enough to let sunlight flow in unobstructed. On one side of the room were several rows of rectangular tables—blue, green, yellow, red, and multicolored chairs around them. A glass-paneled room on the back wall showed rows of computers. A video camera set on a tripod in the corner. On the other wall was a stage with microphones and what looked like props from a theatrical performance.
“Is this the auditorium?”
“This is the main assembly area. The kids put on concerts here. Theatrical performances. This is where they gather when speakers are invited. Basically, anything that involves everyone takes place here. When set up for assembly this room can hold three hundred people.”
“And along the back wall, a computer lab?”
“Yes. Fully loaded laptops with the latest programs and accessories. Scanners. Printers. Everything needed for our students to be proficient in the technology and also a few that are dedicated to those who want to write their own programs or design games, which we highly encourage. We also have fully equipped studios for filmmaking and music production.”
“Wow, that’s way more than can be found in most schools, and partially answers my question for how a center for kids would spend seven million dollars.”
Emma fixed her with a look that conveyed understanding of Mallory’s question inside a question. “We are very thankful for the many donors and supporters who help us run one of the best foundations of this kind in the nation.”
She motioned toward a hallway opposite where they walked. “Down there is the cafeteria and cooking lab for those interested in the culinary arts. That section also houses the gym, with rooms for yoga, meditation, and tai chi. Classrooms are upstairs. We’ll go there now.”
They continued through the room to a set of stairs on the other side. It was only then that Mallory realized the building was much bigger than it appeared.
“Classrooms? So is there an accredited academic side to the center?”
“Not yet fully accredited but that’s our goal. Currently we work with the New York school district to provide summer school classes for kids who have fallen behind, need extra tutoring or assistance, or who would not be promoted to the next grade without it. Every child learns differently. Part of my job is determining what type of learning works best for each student. Some do well with books. Others learn faster with a hands-on approach. Some kids are smart but aren’t good test takers. The better we understand how each child learns, the better we can teach.”
A din of voices drifted toward them as they climbed the stairs. Mallory’s ears perked up. Kids!
; “What room is that? Can we go inside?”
Emma looked inside the class. “Sure. This is the math and science lab.”
They stepped inside. Mallory was immediately struck with a mural that had been “tagged” on the back wall. It showed boys and girls in typical teen gear and poses against a gritty yet colorful city brick backdrop. Above them a banner: Nerd Nation.
“I really love that wall.” Mallory dug into her bag for the paper’s high-powered digital camera, which she’d brought along. “Mind if I take a picture?”
“Not at all. That mural was painted by one of our students.”
“The juxtaposition sends a great message. That kids can be both smart and cool.”
They continued over to where a group of kids surrounded one of several islands in the room, each one equipped with working space, a sink, and several drawers for storage. They looked up, smiling and speaking at once.
“Hey, Ms. D!”
“Auntie Em!”
“What’s up, Ms. Em?”
“Students, this is Ms. Knight, a reporter with New York News. She’s doing a series for the foundation and would like to ask a few questions.”
“I can do it!” A young woman eagerly replied.
“We’re going to be in the paper?” another inquired.
A tall, lanky kid pushed the others aside. “I’m the one you want to speak with,” he said, crossing his arms in an authoritative manner. “What would you like to know, Ms. Knight?”
“Your name, for starters,” Mallory said as she pulled out her phone and engaged a recording app.
“Justin Bailey.”
She conducted a brief interview with Justin and the kids surrounding her. As they turned to leave, Mallory noticed a young girl at another island. The student had several small clay pots lined up, a bag of potting soil, and several of what looked to be packs of seeds lying on the counter.
“What’s she doing?”
“Harmony is our resident horticulturist,” Emma explained. “She loves gardening, has a dream of starting one on the rooftops of all the high-rises in her neighborhood.”
“I’d like to speak with her.”
She watched Emma’s expression change to one of compassion. “Another time, perhaps. She’s dealing with a few challenges right now. I think the gardening is therapeutic and helping her heal.”
Emma’s phone rang.
“Excuse me. Yes, Lisa?” She paused to listen. “Tell him I’m on my way.”
As she ended the call, a young man bounded up the stairs. “Akil, perfect timing. This is Mallory Knight from the New York News. I was just wrapping up a tour with her but have to attend to another matter. Can you show her the media center and wrap up the tour?”
“Sure, Ms. Davis.”
“Thank you.” And to Mallory: “Sorry to cut this short. It’s been a pleasure. Please call if you have further questions. I look forward to reading this week’s column.”
“I look forward to writing it. Thanks so much for your time.”
She watched Emma hurry down the stairs.
“Mallory, right?”
“Yes, and your name is Akil?”
He nodded. “The media center is down here.”
They began walking. “This is such a wonderful program.”
“More than that, really. It’s an extended family.”
“I can see that. Even when faced with challenges, the students still come. Like Harmony, for instance.”
“Yeah,” Akil agreed with a sigh. “Your father getting shot and brother almost dying in one week is hard to take.”
Mallory stopped midstride. At Akil’s questioning glance she began walking again. Her heart had already skipped several beats. “Right, her brother Brandon.”
“You interviewed him?”
“No, but I’d like to.”
“I don’t know how likely that is to happen. He may come back here eventually, but it’s going to take a while.”
“What’s his dad’s name?”
“They call him D-Man but I think his real name is Danny.”
“And his last name?”
Akil shrugged. “Brandon’s last name is Walker, but I think that’s his mother’s name. Here we are. The media center where students create magic.”
Mallory listened as Akil took her around the media room and completed the tour. She barely heard his explanations of films being made and beats produced. Much more interesting to her was learning that Brandon’s dad had been shot shortly before the boy was admitted to the hospital for what had officially been described as an allergic reaction but was rumored to have been an attempted suicide. Why would a twelve-year old boy try and kill himself? Could he have been distraught over almost losing his father? She remembered how quickly Zoey had cut off the reporter who’d asked about it. Did Christian’s camp know more than they’d let on, and should any of that matter to Mallory? One mystery on her plate was enough, but that didn’t stop the investigator in her from wanting more information. So many questions without any answers. . . yet.
15
Sam had a sick baby and couldn’t meet her at Newsroom but Ava did, and after hearing the details of Mallory’s week, she said, “Damn, detective. You’ve been busy! I feel like a slacker.”
“I thought you said the doctor was out of town.”
“She was but I still went there. I told them I was in the neighborhood and wanted to confirm my appointment. It gave me a chance to do recon.” Mallory took a bite of spicy grilled salmon and missed Ava’s look.
“Recon. Listen at you. Jumped from Sherlock to NCIS in a heartbeat. I can’t keep up. That was a joke, Mal.”
“I know, listen.” She looked around, lowered her voice. “I noticed a file room. We’ve got to find a way to get in there and see if there are any records on Leigh.”
“The whole world has gone digital. Do hospitals still keep paper records?”
“I saw stacks of files on the receptionist’s desk. But you’re right. Everything is stored electronically now.” She thought for a moment, thin worry lines marring her forehead. “It may net me nothing but we’ve got to try.”
“I said I’d help you get answers and I will, but breaking into buildings is where I draw the line.”
Mallory offered a quick headshake. “Hope it won’t come to that. They’ve got video surveillance.”
“Oh, because they’ve got cameras. Not because to do so is a felony!”
“There’s got to be a way. I thought about whether or not the office has a cleaning crew and maybe bribing one for a shift, but still . . . those damn cameras.”
“I don’t see anything working, short of becoming an employee.”
Mallory’s head snapped up. “That’s it!”
“Okay, Mal. I’m starting to worry.”
“No, really. If I could somehow find a way . . . shoot . . . too problematic. I guess you’re right. What about the politician? The one Leigh met for lunch several times and briefly dated. Anything there?”
“Randall DuBois? You know who he is, right?”
“I pulled a few images online but other than him being a politician and easy on the eyes, I don’t know a lot about him.”
“He’s a member of the House of Representatives. Conservative. Successful. Pretty boy good-looking, as you know since you’ve seen his picture. He’s happily married, at least that’s how it appears from pictures of him and his wife.”
“That doesn’t mean anything. Or it could mean everything. Getting someone pregnant while having an affair is not a good look for Capitol Hill.”
“Not at all, especially for someone who aspires to the highest office in the land.”
“He plans to run for president?”
“Not quite yet. His short-term goal is to be the next Majority Leader, perhaps even Speaker of the House. But he’s being carefully watched and secretly groomed for the long-term goal—to possibly be the Republican Party’s Obama in about eight years.”
“Hmm, interesting indeed.�
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“There’s more,” Ava said, her eyes containing a conspiratorial sparkle. “A few years ago, the insider rumor mill was all abuzz about a supposed affair between him and an attorney he worked closely with on several bills. My source says this wasn’t his first affair. What made this one different, however, is that she was the first one who made his wife feel threatened. The attorney was smart, beautiful, cultured, all of that. So the wife demanded that he end the affair and cut off all contact.”
“That sounds serious.”
“According to my contact the missus was not having it and since they’ve been married for twenty or twenty-five years, she probably had enough to throw him under the bus, the train and the subway, okay?”
Mallory and Ava cracked up.
“So what happened?”
“One day she was there, and one day she wasn’t. The assumption is that she was paid off but neither that nor the affair was ever confirmed.”
“Good work, detective! So he stays on the list?”
“Definitely.”
“What about the high-rise where you thought the musician lived? Did you get a chance to check it out for a resident directory?”
Ava shook her head, checking her phone. “I’m mired in the Rump scandals, which unfortunately show no end in sight. Sorry I can’t help more.”
“You would if you could.”
“I read your column last night.”
“Yeah? What did you think?”
“Good stuff. You mentioned him without genuflecting and then painted a picture for what happens inside. I mean, horticulture? For real?”
“I was pretty impressed. Really want to talk to her.”
“About her brother.”
“That and . . . herbs.”
“You’re such a bullshitter.”
“Hey, I need help trying to grow them on my window sill. It’s like I’m swimming in a pool of questions, conjecture, and circumstantial possibilities so that that I can’t see a thing.”
“Maybe that’s because you’re too deep in the water. You know, that whole thing about forests and trees. Works in water, too. Get out of the pool. Relax. Change your perspective.”
“You might be right.”
“I know I am. Focus on the center and what’s happening with the kids. I know you went in it with an ulterior motive but at the end of the day it’s pretty amazing what’s happening over there. And with so much negative media about kids from those neighborhoods, the success stories are ones that need to be told.”
