by R. G. Belsky
“I’m trying to find someone I think lives here.” I smiled. Friendly, nonthreatening. Just a confused woman looking for some help. “But I can’t quite remember the name. I think it’s something like Findlay.”
The doorman smiled back.
“Findlay? Let me check the board for you, ma’am.” He walked over to a lobby directory. I followed him and rapidly began scanning the names, hoping to find one that might mean something to me.
“How about Feely?” the doorman asked.
“I don’t think so.”
When I got down to the Ms on the directory, one of the names jumped out at me. Morelli. Victor Morelli. Victor Morelli had an apartment in the building. Could Chad Enright—Terri Hartwell’s top aide—be meeting here with Morelli? And, if so, why?
“Maybe I have the wrong building,” I told the doorman.
Outside, I turned into the parking garage where the Caddy had gone. There was no attendant around. I spotted the Caddy, walked over to where it was parked. I opened the door—which was unlocked—and rummaged through the glove compartment. I found something there indicating the car was registered to Morelli.
Just then an elevator door opened, and three men stepped out. They headed toward the Caddy. I ducked behind a car alongside before they saw me. Then, as quickly and carefully as I could, I crawled low behind more of the cars, made my way back to the garage entrance, and got the hell out of there. But not before I was able to recognize all three of the men I’d seen getting into Morelli’s car.
One of them was Victor Morelli himself.
Another was Michael—The Enforcer—Grasso, his top henchman.
And the third man was Chad Enright.
CHAPTER 26
“HOW COME YOU’VE never gotten married?” I asked Gary Weddle.
“How come you’ve never stayed married?”
“I guess I never found the right person.”
“Me either.”
We were having dinner together. And we were eating in an actual restaurant this time. I’d abandoned the cafeteria idea once I decided I liked him. The question was how much I liked him. Well, I’d already decided I liked him a lot. Sure, I know everyone kept telling me he wasn’t my type. But shouldn’t I be the one who decided what my type of romantic interest should be?
I still wasn’t sure if this was a business dinner or a personal one. I’m not even certain who suggested it first. But it seemed like a good idea to both of us. So here we were.
I’d come up with a plan though to get a reading on exactly how he felt about this dinner. If he saw it as simply a business dinner, he’d say we should put it on our Channel 10 expense accounts. But, if he viewed it as personal—a date or whatever—he’d offer to pay the bill. I, being the liberated woman I am, would then suggest splitting it with him, and we’d be on an official date.
It was a pretty clever plan, if I do say so myself. And I was eagerly looking forward to getting the check at the end of the meal to put it into motion.
We talked as we ate about a lot of stuff at the office, including my upcoming on-air appearance about the Morelli-owned buildings. That was scheduled to lead our newscast the following evening. I told Weddle everything I’d found out about the buildings and also about my sighting of Morelli and Terri Hartwell’s top deputy, Chad Enright.
“Do you think Hartwell is taking payoffs from Morelli?” he asked. “Maybe disguised as campaign contributions from a third person like say this Wincott guy you mentioned?”
“Something’s going on there between them.”
I’d discussed this in detail with Faron earlier after seeing Morelli, Grasso, and Enright together.
“I can’t say there are payoffs. I don’t know what Enright and Morelli were saying to each other or doing together in that garage. But I can point out all the illegal activities going on at the Morelli buildings, without any action being taken by authorities. I can say that Channel 10 has learned exclusively of disturbing communications between Hartwell’s office and the Morelli crime family. And then I can call on Terri Hartwell to come forward and answer all these questions for us. I think that ought to be enough to set off some real fireworks and shake up Terri Hartwell’s political aspirations.”
Weddle said he liked it a lot, that it was the kind of enterprising story that could set us apart from other media in town and help spike our ratings. He also said he was happy so far with the way the newsroom staff at Channel 10 had worked with him to implement his “The News Never Stops” concept into our daily news operation. It was only baby steps so far, he said, but it had been a promising beginning.
“I’ve got you to thank for that, Clare. The way you stood up for me at that first meeting is a big reason this has worked well so far. I generally run into a lot more opposition when I go to a new place with my ideas. But they like you, they respect you. So when you supported me the way you did … well, it made a big difference.”
At some point, I filled him in on some of the office gossip. He wanted to know more about Faron, Maggie, the on-air reporters, and—most of all—he had questions about Brett and Dani.
“What’s the deal going on between those two?” he asked.
“They’re sleeping together. Or at least they were the last time I checked. It’s kind of a fluid situation.”
“Why?”
“Well, for one thing, Brett is married.”
“Ah, I see …”
“He also is”—I made some air quotes with my hands—“‘sort of engaged’ to Dani.”
“Fluid.” Weddle smiled.
“Very fluid.”
“Isn’t that a problem—a situation like that in the office—with all the controversy these days on sexual relationships or affairs in the workplace?”
“They say they’re in love.” I shrugged.
“What exactly is the rule about that for two people working in the same office?”
“I’m not sure what the rules are anymore.”
I wondered if he knew I might be thinking about him and me as well as Brett and Dani.
Weddle had ordered a steak and baked potato. I liked that. I’m not usually into vegetarians or salad eaters. One more indication that this guy could be my type, despite all the naysayers. I’d gone for the chicken alfredo, which was good but pretty much filled up my calorie count for the rest of the week.
“You know, I almost got married once,” he said at one point. “This woman and I lived together for a year. We made plans for a wedding and a life together. But, in the end, things didn’t work out between us.”
“Why not?”
“When I’m working on a big project, like this one at Channel 10, I became obsessed with it. Throw myself into it. I work day and night, almost forgetting everything else—including the woman I’m with. I guess I’ve always put my career priorities first. It’s a character flaw. And it’s cost me a few relationships.”
“It sounds like you and I would be a good fit together,” I blurted out before even realizing what I had said.
“What do you mean?”
“I have the same character flaw. If you and I got together, we could both be obsessed with our jobs and not worry about having to spend time with each other outside the job. My God, it would be the perfect relationship.”
He laughed. I did, too, but it all seemed to be moving in the right direction between the two of us. Then, when the bill came, he offered to pay, as if this were a real date. We wound up splitting it, as I’d planned. As George Peppard used to say on The A-Team, “I love it when a plan comes together.”
The real test, though, was going to be the “good night.” Did we go our separate ways after leaving the restaurant or did he escort me home? It turned out he escorted me home. Walked me right to the front door of my building, where he gave me an awkward kind of hug and said, “I’d like to see you again, Clare.”
“You see me every day in the office,”
“No, I mean I’d like to see you … like this … just you and me …�
��
He was stammering, which I thought was kind of adorable. I impulsively kissed him. It was a quick kiss, but a kiss, nevertheless.
“I’d like to do that, too,” I said. “But I don’t think it’s that easy. Because of all the stuff going on now about sex in the workplace, especially between a boss and an employee. I’m an executive with the station, and we hired you. I’m technically your boss. That could cause real problems.”
“Well, my contract with the station is a temporary one, for a few months. Once that’s done, we could revisit the issue, Clare. I’m willing to wait, if that’s better for the both of us.”
“Let’s leave it like that for now and see what happens.”
“What about another kiss?” he asked. “Is that allowed?”
“I think we could slip one in if we promise to keep it a secret from everyone.”
“I won’t tell if you don’t.”
Then he leaned down and kissed me.
For a long time.
It was a nice kiss.
The kind of kiss that promised even better things ahead.
When I got upstairs to my apartment, I called Janet. I told her I needed some advice.
“Legal or personal?” she asked.
“A combination of both.”
I told her about my evening with Gary Weddle. About our decision to hold off on going any further while we worked together. And yes, about the kiss we shared at the end.
“That’s a situation filled with potential downsides for you, Clare. Like you said, you’re his boss. If the relationship breaks up and the station decides to fire him—or even just doesn’t renew his contract—he could say that’s retaliation from you because of a personal relationship. It’s not as common for a woman supervisor to be accused of sexual harassment as a man, but it can happen. You could find yourself in a legal mess. That’s one scenario.”
“What’s another one?”
“He comes up with a plan for the station that doesn’t include you. Based on his consultant advice, the station fires you and gets a new news director. You claim it’s because you refused his advances and wouldn’t sleep with him. Under that scenario, you would have a legitimate sexual harassment lawsuit against him.”
“Uh, Janet, is there any possible scenario here between Weddle and I that doesn’t wind up in a lawsuit?”
“Well, you could live happily ever after.”
“I’m good with that.”
“Doesn’t seem very likely given your track record with men.”
“There’s always a first time for everything.”
“‘Those who ignore history are doomed to repeat it.’ Winston Churchill said that. But I think it applies to your love life, too.”
Cute.
“So that’s your legal advice for me?”
“Personal, too.”
“Thank you.”
“I’ll send you a bill in the morning.”
CHAPTER 27
“IT’S THE NEWS at 6 with the Channel 10 News Team. Brett Wolff and Dani Blaine at the anchor desk; Steve Stratton with sports; and Wendy Jeffers with your up-to-date weather forecast. If you want to know what’s happening—you want it first and you want it accurate—Channel 10 News has you covered.
“And now, here’s Brett and Dani …”
BRETT: Good evening. There’s been a bus accident on the George Washington Bridge—no one is seriously injured, but it’s making a mess of the evening commuter rush; the mayor says he wants more bikes and less cars in Manhattan; the Mets found a new way to lose a ball game; and—well, if you haven’t had enough rain already—there’s a lot more on the way.
DANI: But first, we open with exclusive coverage of a new housing crisis in New York City from Channel 10’s own Pulitzer-Prize-winning journalist, News Director Clare Carlson.
ME: It’s always been tough to find a good place to live in New York City. The rents are too high, the apartments too small, and the demand too much for the supply. But now the problem is even worse because more and more New Yorkers are being shut out of affordable housing by powerful and corrupt forces using these spaces instead to make themselves big profits or carry out illicit enterprises.
The screen cut to a shot of the first apartment building I’d visited:
ME: Many of the residents of this building on the Lower East Side have lived here their entire lives. Families have grown up here, and memories were made over the years. But now people are being forced out by a landlord who wants to make more money from the property. I spoke with one of the tenants still living there, a 68-year-old retiree named Joseph Moskowitz.
A video of me interviewing Moskowitz in front of the building was on the screen now.
MOSKOWITZ: They don’t do repairs for me, they don’t provide adequate heat in the winter, my water is sometimes shut off for days. And the only elevator in this building … well, it isn’t just that it doesn’t work. It’s dangerous to all of us. Not long ago, a little boy fell down the abandoned shaft and died. The authorities ruled it an accident. But it never would have happened if the building was maintained properly. I’ve complained to everyone I can think of, but no one does anything.
I talked about the boy who died in the elevator shaft, a six-year-old named Danny Fields. I did an interview with his parents, too. Showed pictures of him growing up, looking happy and joyful. It was heartbreaking stuff. Especially when the mother broke down in tears on the screen.
MRS. FIELDS (DANNY’S MOTHER): We called and we called to get them to fix that elevator. Or at least make sure the door was shut so that no one could fall into it. We told Danny to stay away from there. But he was only six years old, and he was so inquisitive about everything. And then one day …
That’s when she broke down in tears.
MRS. FIELDS: All they had to do was send someone over to fix that elevator and my little boy would still be alive. But they never answered any of my calls. They never got back to me no matter how many times I tried. And they didn’t even bother to call or contact us with any kind of condolences after Danny died. What kind of people are they?
I showed video then from the other buildings I’d visited. Interviews with residents who talked about the traffic and other woes resulting from the mob-run pizza place, the gambling operations, the sex industry spots, and all the rest. I was careful to just recite the facts of what we did know to avoid any libel issues. But that was enough. The facts were pretty powerful.
At the pizza place, one longtime neighborhood resident complained that he no longer could find a place to park his car when he came home from work.
RESIDENT: I get parking tickets from police all the time. The people who double park outside that pizza place never get ticketed at all. That’s not fair. I complained to police, but they ignored me. I complained one time to the manager of the pizza place. The next day, the windshield on my car was smashed. But no one listens to us.
ME: No one listens. That’s a constant refrain from the people at all these locations. The owner of the buildings doesn’t care about their complaints. The police don’t seem to care either. Or any of the elected officials that are supposed to be protecting their rights as hardworking New Yorkers.
Then I got to the trickiest part of the report. The stuff about Victor Morelli. And about Terri Hartwell.
I said that all of the buildings in this report were owned by a faceless conglomerate called Big M Realty Corp. Which, I told the viewers, turned out to be a front for the company called More-Land Management. Finally, I revealed that More-Land Management was run by Victor Morelli, one of the city’s most notorious crime bosses.
ME: Not surprisingly, Big M Realty Corp, More-Land Management, and Victor Morelli himself all refused to return calls from Channel 10 with our questions about these buildings. They don’t return calls from the people in the buildings or the neighborhoods around them either.
Next, I brought up the possibility of a connection between Morelli and payoffs—disguised as political campaign cont
ributions—to get authorities and city officials to ignore his building violations. Faron and I had gone over all this with the station’s lawyers beforehand. We decided not to make a specific reference to my sighting of Morelli and Enright, since we had no idea of the context of their meeting. Instead, I said:
ME: Channel 10 has discovered disturbing questions about the relationship between Morelli and the office of Manhattan District Attorney Terri Hartwell, who is a potential candidate for mayor. Including contacts between the Morelli and Hartwell camps. There is no evidence that Morelli has contributed money directly to the Hartwell mayor campaign. But it certainly raises the possibility of Morelli money being funneled into the Hartwell campaign through a third-party contributor. We will continue to pursue this issue. And so, we call on District Attorney Hartwell tonight to publicly disavow any connection with Morelli and to declare now that she has not received—either directly or indirectly—any campaign contributions from Victor Morelli. The people of New York have a right to get that answer from you, District Attorney Hartwell.
I mentioned Martin Barlow, too, in my report. I said he was the journalist who had first uncovered illegal activities at the buildings I’d cited. I did not say anything about a possible connection between any of this and Barlow’s death. Because I wasn’t sure there was one. And because I certainly didn’t have any evidence to back that idea up. And I did not even consider going public with Marty’s serial killer theory, which had no facts whatsoever at the moment to back it up—and seemingly had nothing to do with any of the rest of this.
I thought again about Marty and his contempt for the type of news I usually did for TV. Everything from Kardashian/Bieber to breathless weather reports to miracle diets and weight loss programs that passed for news on television. But we weren’t about news on TV news shows. Not real news anyway. It was all about ratings and advertising dollars and demographics.
Except this time, I’d broken out of that format.
I’d done an actual news story.
