AllFreeNovel
Share Us
29
Mia
New York City
Wednesday evening
Two hours later, Mia walked into her condo, shed all her winter gear, turned up the heat to roast. What a day, since six a.m. this morning to Boston, then to Connecticut, then back home. She wasn’t exhausted, though; she was revved. She looked around her small living room and realized she hadn’t cleaned before she’d left. It showed. She picked up a sweater draped over a living room chair, dropped it on the blue comforter on her bed, decided it was enough, and walked back to her table, spread all her work out, and googled Jordan Jeffers, the captain of the lacrosse team who’d accidentally hit Alex’s earlobe with his lacrosse stick before a hit-and-run driver ran him down. She had a few minutes before changing to meet Miles Lombardy, Alex Harrington’s senior staffer.
Of course she got caught up in the tragic story of Jordan Jeffers. When Mia looked at her watch, she jumped out of her chair, knew she had to hurry. She thought about Miles as she changed, fair complexioned and only a couple of years older than she was. He was known as a political whiz. She remembered he looked like a wise owl in round glasses and neatly trimmed goatee. They both knew the rules: he wanted to find out what she was going to do and she wanted to find out what he knew about Alex. She hoped her wits would win out.
Mia wound her long blue-and-green woolen scarf around her neck, buttoned her coat to her chin, pulled her watch cap down to her eyebrows, and found her Uber waiting for her. At least she wasn’t walking from the Guardian, head down into a tonsil-freezing glacial wind. The streets weren’t congested. The only New Yorkers outside were those leaving work, rushing toward the subway.
She directed her Uber driver to the Confluence, one of the current downtown in-spots only two blocks up from the Guardian, on a small side street. Her Uber pulled up to the restaurant with five minutes to spare. Even though it was frigid outside, it was warm inside and the bar bulged with happy hour New Yorkers. The Confluence sported a huge old mahogany bar trucked from a 1920s speakeasy in Chicago. Its specialty was mango-chutney pizza, served up by a waitstaff of mostly flamboyant would-be actors and dancers.
Mia was impressed when she spotted Miles at a booth near the back and wondered how he’d managed to snag that primo spot. She smiled at his wave, thought again he had the air of a wise owl. She wove her way through the happy crowd, everyone forced to speak louder to be heard over the pounding jungle-beat music. Mia had no doubt Miles’s phone call as she was leaving Coach Wiliker’s office to meet him that evening was an assignment from Alex Harrington. Miles was to charm her, pass on some of Alex’s talking points, pump her on what she’d found out in Boston and whether she’d do right by candidate Harrington in her upcoming feature on him. Mia smiled at Miles. This would be fun.
“Mr. Lombardy, good evening.” She began unwinding the scarf around her neck. “Isn’t this a great place? A bit on the noisy side, but who cares? The pizzas are incredible, and the waitstaff will give you a little performance if you ask them. If the music’s not playing too loud, they’ll sing, maybe mime from a show. Cats is always popular, singing and dancing.”
“That sounds like fun. There’s a place in L.A. where all the wannabe actors do the same thing.” He slid out of the booth and helped her off with her coat.
“Thank you. I heard this was your first year in New York,” she said. “How are you surviving our winter?”
He smiled, stuck out his hand, shook hers. “I’m from L.A. where it’s always warm, the sun always shines. You do have to worry about skin cancer from too much sun. I do love the energy of New York, the feel of excitement in the air, but I’ve got to be truthful, I hate the weather.”
“That answers my question.”
“This place is a find. I haven’t been here before. I’ve enjoyed a few places in the Village, but never made it here. Do you think our waiter would dance a Gene Kelly number?”
“I doubt it tonight. Looks like they’re too busy running their feet off to dance and that music is blasting anyway. Please, call me Mia.”
“Mia. And I’m Miles.” Mia slid in, laid her coat beside her.
A waiter wove his way through the standing patrons to their booth. Miles said, “A beer, please, whatever pale ale’s on tap. How about you, Mia?”
She started to nod, then ordered the house white. She leaned forward and raised her voice so he could hear her. “So what’s going on, Miles? Has Alex—Mr. Harrington asked me to call him that—decided to drop out of the race? Get married now in Tahiti? What?”
He laughed, a nice full-bodied laugh that fogged up his glasses. He took them off, wiped them on a napkin, slid them back on. “Mr. Harrington asked me to check in with you, and I was glad for the opportunity. We met only briefly at the fundraiser, didn’t get a chance to talk when you were at campaign headquarters yesterday. I have quite a bit I’d like you to be aware of for your article—Mr. Harrington’s hopes, his campaign, his plans. He also wanted me to ask you whether your trip to Boston went well, what your impressions were.”
Mia nearly smiled. Right out of the gate, down to business, no pretending over a social drink, and that was a pleasant surprise. She said on a grin, “He could have sent me an email.”
“I prefer a more personal approach. How else can I be sure you understand what’s really important to him—his program for minority schools, gun control?”
She saw then he looked tired. “A lot of late-night strategy sessions with Mr. Hughes and Alex?”
He gave her a singularly sweet smile. “Sure, and it’ll only get more intense as the election heats up. I’m used to that, but what I’m not used to is this cold. When will it warm up around here?”
Their waiter magically reappeared through the packed-in crowd, a small tray held up high, and expertly set their beer and wine in front of them. “Might warm up in April, sir, if we’re lucky. Sorry I can’t stay. Holler when you’d like more.” He disappeared again, weaving his way through bodies, too graceful not to be a dancer.
“Here’s hoping for April,” Mia said, and she clicked her wineglass to Miles’s beer.
Time to bait the bear. “I had a nice conversation with Pamela Barrett, Alex’s fiancée, and of course with his professors at Harvard he’d picked out for me to talk to.” She sipped her wine. “Turns out Boston was very informative, particularly my interview with Juliet Ash Calley, Alex’s former fiancée.”
Miles showed no hesitation, no sign of alarm. “I never met Ms. Calley but Cory told me she’s the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen. I looked her up, and I agree, she could give all the L.A. girls a run for their money. I read she’s a concert pianist, though I’ve never heard her play.”
“She’s mainly classical, and immensely talented. Cory’s right, I’ve never seen a more beautiful woman.”
“I’m a jazz man, myself. New Orleans.”
