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30
Mia
“No, I didn’t mean that, exactly.” Miles sighed. “But yes, Mr. Harrington is an impressive man.” Mia sensed a canned recording snapping on when Miles added quickly, “Mr. Harrington really cares about New York, Mia, he wants to make it better. Just take his budget for minority schools—”
She raised her hand to turn off the spigot. “Before you go on, Miles, let me set the record straight. Ms. Calley broke off their engagement, not Alex. Tell me this—did Alex already know I’d spoken with Juliet Calley?”
Miles grew very still. Nothing showed on his face, but his glasses started to fog up. Mia took another sip of her chardonnay. She felt sorry for him, but she wasn’t about to help him out of his lovely deep hole. He’d been sent to worm information out of her, and he should have known he’d be the sacrificial goat if things didn’t go well.
He cleaned his glasses once again, slid them back on. “He did, yes. I believe Ms. Barrett mentioned to him you might.”
Mia said, “I wonder how Ms. Barrett guessed? As I recall I didn’t mention my visiting Ms. Calley.” She smiled. “Oh well, I suppose word travels fast in their circle.” Mia wasn’t about to throw Juliet under the bus, and so she said easily, “Don’t make yourself crazy, Miles. Ms. Calley didn’t accuse Alex of kidnapping babies or running down people he didn’t like with his Jaguar.” Mia wondered if Miles would quote that line to Alex, and whether Alex would know she meant Jordan Jeffers. She wondered if Alex even remembered Jordan Jeffers.
Miles said, “Alex doesn’t drive a Jag, he drives an F150.”
Mia lightly tapped the heel of her hand to her forehead. “How could I have doubted that for an instant? Of course he drives an American truck. Does he haul away old furniture for his mom?”
Miles tried for a laugh, nearly made it. “You’re joking. You know some political opponents will do almost anything, say almost anything, if they catch a scent their opponents might have a weakness. And who wouldn’t be worried about an ex-fiancée? Mr. Harrington’s current fiancée, Ms. Barrett, she’ll make quite an impressive first lady of New York City, don’t you think?”
Mia took another sip of her chardonnay, slightly woody, as she liked it. “Oh yes, Pammie would surely make a fine first lady of the manor. She’s confident, smart, and after speaking with her, I think she’d do anything to help him win this election. Pammie and Alex Harrington make a fine team.”
The sarcasm hit him in the face, but he ignored it. “Good, I knew she’d impress you, she impresses everyone. She and Alex have agreed not to refer to her as Pammie, by the way. It’s too casual, not fitting for a first lady of New York City. Could you please not refer to her by her nickname in anything you write?”
Mia stared at him. “What? Mr. Harrington is worried about his future wife’s nickname? Voters would drop away if they heard it? Me? I think Pammie sounds all sorts of cuddly and fun and ready for a pillow fight. Pamela, on the other hand, sounds a bit stuffy, standoffish, makes her sound full of herself, don’t you agree?”
Miles Lombardy blinked owl eyes behind his black-framed glasses. “You know, Mia, what I think really doesn’t matter to anyone. What did you learn about Mr. Harrington from his former professors at Harvard?”
“Since Mr. Harrington sent me a list of names, I assume he fully expected the three professors to praise his eyebrows, so why do you ask?”
“I’m covering all the bases. You talked to some of the departmental staff, too, right?”
So Alex had heard she’d spoken with the departmental secretaries, a student’s best friends, if the student had a brain. How? Had one of them called him? She nodded, smiling. “Of course. Any good reporter would.” Mia looked at him squarely. “Listen, Miles, there’s no need to worry about Ms. Calley, for now. She was very neutral about Alex and his fitness to be the mayor of New York.” She saw relief flood his face, and then she added the spur, “All of you will find out exactly what everyone I spoke with said about Alex when you read my article.”
He downed the rest of his beer in one draft and stared at her, mute.
Mia’s cell buzzed a text from Travis. Icicle cold here in Zurich. Drinks with big honcho of Lohman Pierce. He wasn’t pissed about anything, just wanted to touch base. All good. Love you, miss you like crazy, Travis.
A hammer of guilt slammed her head. The last couple of days had been so hectic, she’d forgotten to call Travis. She looked at her watch, realized it was getting late. She was surprised he was still awake. She was surprised she was still awake, too, given the hours she’d put in today. She slipped her cell back into her messenger bag, grabbed her coat, and scooted out of the booth. As she wound her scarf around her neck, she looked down at Miles. He didn’t look happy. She raised her voice to make sure he could hear her. “However this turns out, you’ve got a bright career ahead of you. Remember that. Good evening and thank you for the wine.”
Mia didn’t leave the blessed warmth of the restaurant until she was wrapped to her eyebrows. She pulled on her gloves as she stepped outside into the middle of a crowd, all of them looking for a taxi. She hadn’t called an Uber, hadn’t thought of it. She called now, was told it would be twenty minutes. She watched as taxis pulled up to take in people in front of her. She huddled in her coat, wrapped her arms around herself. No, this was ridiculous, she wasn’t going to wait for an Uber. She’d hike to the subway station on West Fourth near Washington Square, only three blocks up if she took a shortcut. If she hurried, she could call Travis from the station, and if the trains were running smoothly, she’d be home in under half an hour.
She made her way to Sullivan Street and headed toward Washington Square. The businesses in the neighborhood were closed for the day, the only light coming from the streetlights and from apartment windows. Mia walked fast, head down against the wind. She saw an occasional taxi, but of course they were already occupied. She paused next to a dark building, the NYU School of Law, when she saw two men on the corner passing something to each other, probably a drug deal. She walked to the other side of the street and kept trudging.
She heard a car engine, her first thought that it might be a taxi. She half turned, an arm raised to flag it down, but it wasn’t a taxi, it was a large dark sedan and it was coming fast, too fast. It swerved suddenly and drove straight toward her. Her heart jumped and a hoarse scream burst out of her mouth.
