64
At the end of the rally in Central Park, Ben Huston wrapped up his comments while the crowd continued to chant.
“Huston, Huston, Huston…”
“I can’t thank you all enough for coming out today,” shouted Congressman Huston, waving his arms high over his head. “Hundreds of thousands of citizens all over the country are standing up and they’re demanding change! From the beginning of our campaign our message has resonated with Americans. Your presence here today is testimony that our time is here.”
Patrick gazed up at Ben Huston and drank in every inspirational word.
“Let me leave you with one final thought,” said Huston. “Each one of you owes it to yourself to do what you love and follow your heart. Be kind to each other. Smile. You’ll find that the most joy will come when you’re doing something for someone else. Public service, volunteerism, that’s what we need more of in this country. That’s what our movement is all about. Together we can pull along those less fortunate and give every American a chance at a better life!”
Ben Huston waved as the crowd roared with approval. “Thank you all very much for coming out today and remember, don’t forget to vote in November.”
Huston stood at the podium for a good long time, smiling and waving to all of his cheering constituents. The young strawberry-blonde aide walked over to him and whispered into the congressman’s ear. Huston nodded and turned to the microphone.
“Wait, wait. I almost forgot something very important,” he said with a smile and a twinkle in his eye. “Folks, before you go, let me tell you a quintessential New York love story. Last year around Valentine’s Day, a young man, a big Huston supporter, was at home when his phone rang. It was one of those telemarketers.”
A groan rose from the crowd. Patrick’s eyes were fixed on Huston.
“I know, I know,” said Huston, laughing, “they always seem to call just as you’re about to eat dinner or stepping into the shower.” More laughter rippled across the lawn. “Anyway, this young fellow picks up the call and it’s a young lady doing a political survey.”
“Was it one of yours?” shouted someone from the crowd, causing everyone including Huston to laugh.
“I hope not,” said the congressman as he chuckled. “Anyway, the young lady asked this fellow some questions. They wound up having a long conversation and discovered they were both big supporters of the Huston campaign.”
More applause and cheers.
“As it happens, they were also both single. The young man thought it was one of the best discussions he had ever had with anyone in his life. He was about to ask the young lady what her name was to see if they could meet. And do you know what rotten luck this guy had? Just as he started to ask her out, they had that big blackout. Remember that one last year, around Valentine’s Day when most of New York City went out. Their phones went dead and he’s been trying to find her ever since.”
While Huston spoke, Patrick scanned the crowd hoping the Mystery Woman would magically emerge.
“This young man hoped that given her support of my campaign,” said Huston, “that same young lady might be here at the rally today. I’d like to ask the young man to come on up here.”
The strawberry-blonde waved to Patrick, signaling for him to come onto the stage.
“If that young lady is somewhere out there in this crowd,” said Huston, “why don’t you come on up and say hello to this young man. He’s gone to an awful lot of trouble to find you.”
The strawberry-blonde staffer walked over to Patrick and pulled him onto the stage, pushing him next to the congressman.
“What’s your name?” asked Huston.
“Patrick, sir.”
“If anyone out there thinks they may be the young lady Patrick is looking for, come on up here,” said Huston, thoroughly enjoying his role as matchmaker. “In the meantime, I’ve got a plane to catch. Thank you all for coming and don’t forget, the election is only weeks away.”
Within moments, Huston was gone and the crowd began to break up and leave the park. Patrick stood alone on the side of the stage, examining every woman that passed.
“I hope you find her,” shouted a girl with curly black hair walking past him with a bunch of her friends. “That was so romantic.”
“If she doesn’t show up, I’m available,” shouted a dark-haired girl with a ponytail in a pink yoga outfit. “He’s hot,” she said to one of her friends, loud enough for Patrick to hear.
People waved, giving Patrick the thumbs up as they passed and he waved back. Some wished him good luck and more than a few girls offered to take the place of the woman he was looking for. As the crowd thinned, the once hopeful Patrick became desolate. When nearly ninety percent of the crowd had dispersed, Lorenzo appeared with the dog. Together they waited until every last person had left the lawn and the maintenance crew began to break down the stage.
“Sorry, man,” said Lorenzo. “I guess she wasn’t here. I walked through the entire place with the dog and I got nothing from nobody except a few dirty looks. If she was here, she would have come forward after Huston made that speech.”
“Or,” said a dejected Patrick, “she was here and thought I was a lunatic for going to such lengths to find her. Maybe I scared her off?”
“There’s that, too,” said Lorenzo. “Are we finally done with this now?”
“Yes,” said Patrick softly as the two friends walked across the Great South Lawn. “This was the last trick up Houdini’s sleeve.”
When they got to the eastern edge of Central Park, Patrick bent down to pet the dog.
“You’ll feel better tomorrow,” Lorenzo said as he and Dixie were about to head down Fifth Avenue. “Sure you don’t want to go out tonight? We could have a few beers, have some laughs?”
Patrick shook his head. Within minutes his friend and the dog had disappeared, swallowed up by crowds of pedestrians on the midtown sidewalk. He wanted to be alone that night.
65
Twenty minutes later, when Patrick arrived at his apartment building, Sunny was sitting on his front steps playing with her phone. Next to her was a bouquet of sunflowers, a bottle of white wine and a bag of potato chips. She flashed her thousand-tooth broadcaster’s smile in his direction as he approached.
“I was in the neighborhood,” she said, holding up her peace offering in the form of wine. “I thought if you were around maybe we could hang out. I brought you my signature flowers, a bag of vinegar potato chips, your favorite, and a bottle of white wine…”
“…because red wine stains your teeth,” said Patrick, grinning.
Sunny laughed. “Exactly. Red wine is not an anchorwoman’s friend. How about inviting a girl up for a drink?”
“Sure,” said Patrick, “why not?”
Once inside, he opened the wine and poured each of them a glass. They sat on the sofa in awkward silence until Sunny broke it. “Let me say what I came to say. You promised me we could hash this out. I didn’t like the way things ended the night I went to the ball without you. I pushed you too hard. I wanted to tell you, I’m sorry.”
“You were being you and I was being me.”
“I can’t put my finger on it,” said Sunny, “but the whole time we were together, it felt like something invisible was keeping us apart.”
“Maybe because we were trying to force it,” said Patrick.
“Maybe.”
“Are you agreeing with me because you don’t want to argue?” asked Patrick.
“Why would I ever do that?”
“I don’t know why I asked you that,” he said, as he took a sip of wine. “It’s been a long day.”
“I don’t want us to be over,” said Sunny, moving closer to him. “I want us to try harder. We’re really good together.”
Patrick looked at the beautiful Sunny for a long time. “You want a successful corporate player who can be the other half of a New York power couple,” he said, leaning back on the couch, stifling a yawn. “I’m not that pe
rson. Sunny, you want to be seen. I want to be heard.”
“Maybe we could meet in the middle,” she said, moving even closer to him on the sofa. “We’ve had so many good times.”
“Your middle and my middle are miles apart.”
“Maybe we could find a way to bring them closer together,” said Sunny, inching nearer. “I’m flexible. You think I can’t be, but I can, really. I’ve done a lot of reflecting over the last few weeks. I’m practically a new person.”
Patrick smiled at the notion of Sunny “reflecting” as he leaned back on the couch. She got up to get some ice in the kitchen and by the time the former weathergirl and current anchorwoman returned with her wine, Patrick was asleep, snoring softly. With a rueful smile, she put her glass down, grabbed a blanket from the old wooden chest in the hallway and covered him.
“We can still be good, you and I,” she said softly as she lay down on the adjacent love seat, and pulled a light cotton afghan around her.
In the morning, bright sunlight streamed through Patrick’s living-room windows. Sunny, seated next to him on the couch, gently prodded him and Patrick slowly opened and rubbed his eyes.
“What time is it?” he asked, running his hands through his hair.
“Seven thirty,” said Sunny, offering him a fresh cup of coffee.
“In the morning?” he said, trying to wake himself up. “What happened?”
“Absolutely nothing,” said Sunny, pouting while twisting her head. “My neck is killing me. You fell asleep. I slept on the loveseat.”
Fearing she was losing him, she leaned over and gave him a passionate kiss on the lips.
“What was that for?” said Patrick.
“To show you how I feel about you.”
Confused, he wriggled away and reached for the TV remote and put on CNN. Sunny’s nemesis, Jim Bauer, filled the screen.
“So Jim Bauer is over at CNN now,” said Patrick, changing the subject.
Sunny let out a primal groan. “That blowhard dropped twenty pounds, got new hair plugs, injected about seven pounds of Botox and filler into his face and now CNN thinks he walks on water.”
“There’s the real Sunny we know and love.”
“…and sad news for the world today,” said Jim Bauer, “international musical icon Trevor Williams has died of a heart attack. One of a few people to be an EGOT, someone who won an Emmy, Grammy, Oscar and Tony award, Williams was loved by millions and his career spanned three generations…”
“I can’t believe it, Trevor Williams is dead,” said Patrick. “He was a legend. I think he had more number one hits than Elvis.”
“My mom loves him,” said Sunny. “That’s so sad. He was only sixty-one.”
For the rest of that day and the week that followed, all news vehicles, TV, newspapers and the internet covered nothing but news about Trevor Williams. The feel-good story of Ben Huston playing matchmaker in Central Park was scrapped by everyone in order to cover the passing of an icon.
Two days later, worried that Patrick was not enthusiastic about rekindling their relationship, Sunny texted Lorenzo and asked him to meet her for a drink. She also made him promise to keep their conversation confidential. He agreed to meet her that same night for margaritas at a Mexican place.
When he arrived at La Cantina, Sunny was already seated. A gigantic frozen margarita had already been ordered and was waiting for him on the table. When he approached the booth, Sunny smiled, tilted her face up to allow him to give her a kiss on the cheek.
“Thank you for meeting me, Lorenzo, and for keeping this between us.”
“They sure know how to make ’em here,” said Lorenzo, taking a big gulp of his enormous drink. “What’s all the mystery? You planning some kind of surprise for Patrick?”
“Lorenzo, you and I have become good friends, haven’t we?”
“Are you kidding? I’m one of your biggest fans. Nobody looks as good as you do in front of a Doppler radar image,” he said, laughing at his own joke.
“That’s so sweet,” said Sunny, smiling and looking directly into Lorenzo’s kind brown eyes. She shared a few stories about doing the weather on live TV and soon had Lorenzo laughing. In the meantime, she ordered him a second oversized margarita while she nursed hers. After Lorenzo nearly finished his second cocktail and was clearly “relaxed,” Sunny got to work.
“I’m a very direct person, so I’ll get right to the point,” said Sunny. “You know how much I adore Patrick, but I need your help. It feels like there’s something holding him back from committing fully to our relationship. I can’t put my finger on it. Am I crazy?”
Lorenzo signaled to the waiter to bring him a third margarita as he leaned in to talk more intimately. “Don’t take it personally, but Patrick’s always been the non-committal type. He likes to keep things loose.”
“But it’s more than that. It’s like there’s a third person in the relationship with us,” said Sunny.
“I’ll tell you a little secret,” said Lorenzo, slightly slurring his words while taking a big gulp of his third drink. “But you can’t tell anyone.”
“Of course not,” said Sunny, smiling as she leaned in closer. “My lips are sealed.”
Lorenzo told Sunny the story of the Valentine’s Eve phone call and Patrick’s search for the Mystery Woman. Given the amount of alcohol he had consumed, his detail was nothing short of miraculous. “He stalked museums and writing groups. He looked for her at the Huston rally. He posted messages to her on Craigslist.”
“And?”
“Never found her,” said Lorenzo, nearly finished with his third margarita. “Your problem is you’re competing with a perfect ghost.”
“I knew I wasn’t imagining it,” said Sunny, squinting her eyes. “How long ago did he post on Craigslist?”
“Had to be at least a year ago,” said Lorenzo, taking his last sip. “He asked her to tell him what his childhood dog’s name was so he’d know it was really her.”
“Patrick had a dog when he was a kid?” said Sunny.
“Yup. A beagle named Sadie.”
That night when Sunny got home, she climbed into bed with her laptop and combed through the Missed Connections section of Craigslist. For hours she hunted through posted messages—some silly, others heartfelt, many obscene. After nearly four hours of prying into other people’s private lives, she hit pay dirt—she found Patrick’s post. When she read it, she knew right away what she had to do and composed a message to him.
Hello. I just saw your message. I enjoyed our conversation the night before Valentine’s Day last year and yes, I still love Cheetos. I didn’t have your number to call you back that night but am flattered you remember me. I have a little confession to make, I wasn’t completely honest that night on the phone. I had a boyfriend who has since asked me to marry him. My wedding is next month and then we’re moving to London. I hope you find your person the way I found mine. Btw, you had a beagle named Sadie.
After she re-wrote it thirty times and decided it had the right tone, she posted it that same night, closed her computer, turned out the light and slept like a baby.
The next day when Patrick saw an email in his inbox from Craigslist, his pulse raced and he started to sweat. He held his breath and clicked on it. After a year and a half of looking, hoping and waiting—it was truly and finally over.
The following afternoon, Patrick took a bus to New Jersey to see his mother.
“Are you sure that’s what you want to do, Paddy?” said his mother over dinner that night when Patrick told her he was going to quit his job at Pagliero, Arkin & Sawyer and take a full-time job with The Vindication Project. “You’ve been leading a pretty high-flying lifestyle the past few years. You’ve got some expensive habits from what I can tell. Is TVP going to pay you what you’re currently making at the law firm?”
“Not even close. TVP got a round of funding to bring on a small staff. Salaries will be bare bones. I was honored when they asked me to join them.”
&nbs
p; “How are you going to pay all of your bills?” asked his mother.
“I’ll downsize. Get a smaller apartment in a cheaper neighborhood. I could sell my car, bring my lunch to work and do my own laundry.”
Patrick’s mother raised an eyebrow.
“What do you think, Ma?” said Patrick.
Patrick’s mother cleared her throat. “I’m proud of you, Paddy. Your dad would be, too,” she said, looking over at her husband’s photo on the wall. “For the longest time I worried you were veering off course, getting in too deep with things that didn’t matter. But I figured you were a grown man and you had to find your own way. Looks like you did.”
“Thanks, Ma. On so many levels, it’s time I moved on with my life.”
66
October 2018
Within weeks of the rally in Central Park, Patrick resigned from his law firm and started as a full-time attorney at TVP. He put in twelve-hour days during the week and did extra hours on both Saturdays and Sundays. The crazy schedule didn’t bother him because he loved what he was doing and on top of that, it didn’t leave any time to think about anything else.
On most nights, he’d order takeout, and listen to reruns of Law & Order in the background while he read through legal documents in his living room. Once a week he’d squeeze in a dinner with Sunny. Lorenzo called often too, inviting him out but Patrick always declined.
“I’ve got too much going on,” was Patrick’s usual response.
“You’re becoming a hermit,” Lorenzo had said on the phone one night.
“There are innocent kids in jail,” said Patrick. “I’ve got to stay focused: they’re counting on me.”
He was involved in two major cases. One was for Roderick Kenney, a man serving a life term with no possibility of parole. TVP thought Kenney had been wrongly convicted of a murder in Texas of a woman named Amanda Powell. The only other suspect in the case had been Powell’s boyfriend, a local Texas police officer. The cop had been ruled out by what TVP considered biased and insubstantial evidence. It was TVP’s contention that Roderick Kenney had been railroaded by the local prosecutor because he was poor, black and easy to convict.
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