The Dollhouse(74)

Rose looked at Jason. “Gloria mentored me, helped me make my way up. I owed her. But I wanted corroboration, a second source.”

“Understandable.”

“We aired it anyway, and were vilified when the documents turned out to be fake. I was asked to resign and Gloria was suspended. She pushed the story despite my doubts and then she never said a single word in my defense when we were busted. My hunch was correct, but that was no consolation.”

Jason nodded. “Until a week later when the story turned out to be true. At which point you and Gloria were vindicated.”

“I guess so.”

Griff loved introducing her as “Senator Madden’s nemesis.” It was good for his image, dating a journalist who went after corrupt politicians. Or at least it had been, for a while. An involuntary shiver ran up her spine. She didn’t want to think about Griff right now.

“Well, I’m sorry she screwed you. And I’m glad you’re at WordMerge now.”

“Thanks.”

Strange, how easy it was with this man. If anything, distance had made her see where she should have taken a stand.

It felt good to come clean.





CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR



New York City, 1952


My darling!”

Darby’s mother stood in the middle of the lobby, arms outstretched. Less than two days had passed since Darby had been expelled, and the last person she expected to come calling for her was Mother. When the concierge rang her room to say she had a visitor, she’d hoped that it was Sam. Instead, when the elevator doors opened, she was greeted by Mother.

Mother obviously hadn’t heard.

Darby stifled the impulse to run into her arms and bury her head in Mother’s perfumed embrace as if she were a four-year-old child. The sound of girlish laughter drifted down from the mezzanine, and she didn’t want to embarrass herself in front of any other guests.

She accepted a long hug instead.

“I missed you, Darby dear.” Mother held her at arm’s length and studied her carefully. “The school sent a notice last week saying you were having difficulty and I jumped on a train and here I am.”

Darby added the cost of the train to her ongoing tally of repayments. “You didn’t need to come.”

“I’m glad I did. You don’t look very well. Have you been eating? Never mind; let’s pop into the café right here and I’ll get some food in you.”

They walked through the inside entrance to the café with linked arms. The gesture was strange and artificial, as if Mother was acting out some scene in a madcap movie. Darby slipped inside a booth near the back and fiddled with her silverware until Mother shot her one of her signature looks.

“Sorry.”

“Now tell me everything.”

Darby evaded the command. “How is Mr. Saunders? And the dogs?”

“All are well.”

Mother called the waiter over and ordered Jell-O salads for both of them. Daddy used to say his wife could have been a Hollywood star, with her arched, plucked eyebrows, high cheekbones, and tiny nose. She neatly placed the napkin on her lap and removed her gloves. Every gesture was careful and precise, as if she were a doctor in an operating room.

“Now, Darby. What’s going on with you?”

“Well, I’ve been struggling, to tell you the truth. With the classes, the teachers.” Why mince words? Better to be quick, like pulling off a Band-Aid. “And now I’ve been expelled from Katharine Gibbs.”

Mother’s eyes closed briefly. An unnerving stillness settled over her. “Why?”

“I never fit in there. And for a while I thought I was doing all right. But the classes were awful and boring and I don’t want to do that with my life.”

“You’ve only been there two months. I spent all that money and you couldn’t even be bothered to try?” The pitch of her voice rose, never a good sign. “Because you found it boring? The program takes less than a year, for God’s sake. We’ll go to the school right after lunch and I’ll explain that you must stay on.”

“They made it clear I can’t go back. The letter of expulsion was mailed to you two days ago.”

Mother slammed her hand down on the table, making the silverware jump. “You’ve wasted your father’s insurance money. It’s gone. There is no refund. Do you remember, when we talked about you coming here, that there was no refund?”

The waiter came with their food, two plates of wobbly green Jell-O mold in which slices of olives, celery, and cheese floated, garnished with lettuce and tomato.

“I’m sorry about the money. I’ll pay you back, I promise.”

“And how exactly will you do that?”

“I made a friend, a wonderful friend, named Esme. She works at a jazz club and we sang together and people really raved. Yesterday I went to the club and spoke with the owner, and he said I could start work there as a waitress tomorrow.”

She didn’t mention how her legs had gone liquid from fear when she and Sam had stepped into Mr. Buckley’s office at the club after their talk in Washington Square Park. To her relief, he hadn’t asked her if she had any experience, just told her to show up for her first shift on Saturday at five and then demanded they both get the hell out and stop bothering him.