“Change of plans, Meg. Get something to write with.”
“Wait a minute,” she said curtly as she walked over to her desk and grabbed a pad. His rudeness never failed to amaze her. God forbid he should ask, how are you doing? Or, is this a good time to talk? “I’m ready.”
“You are going to talk to that reporter, Gina Kane—”
“But you said—”
“I know what I said. Shut up and listen.”
“Okay,” she grimaced, spitting out the word.
“You made the decision to leave REL News because you had a young child and you wanted more normal work hours. If she asks, you are not aware of any sexual harassment or bad behavior that took place at the company. Everyone you worked with, especially your male colleagues, was always courteous and professional. Are you taking this down?”
“ ‘Courteous and professional.’ Yes, I am.” Again she spat out the words.
“She is going to ask if when you worked at the company you knew Cathy Ryan. Before I tell you how you should answer and what you should say about her, you may not be aware that Cathy was killed in an accident while in Aruba.…”
“Cathy is dead!” Meg gasped out the words. She and Cathy had gone to work at REL News at the same time. They had both just graduated college. They quickly became friends. Now an image of the girl with the long dark hair and sparkling hazel eyes filled her mind.
Carter was still talking. “Say you knew her and how sorry you were to hear about her passing. And here’s what I want you to tell the reporter about Cathy’s time at REL News…”
Meg was only partially successful attempting to stifle sobs as she wrote. Treating her like a child, Carter insisted she read the instructions back to him.
Finding courage she didn’t know she had, Meg challenged him. “When I accepted the settlement, the only thing I was obliged to do was to keep quiet. There was nothing in the agreement about having to lie to reporters.”
Carter’s voice was icy. “Meg, be a good girl and cooperate. And recognize how fortunate you and Jillian are. Very few first-graders have a teacher as good as Rachel Silverman.”
Part III
55
After dinner with Lisa, Gina slept until nine-thirty. She was in the kitchen making coffee when the phone rang. To her astonishment it was Meg Williamson.
“Ms. Kane, I’m sorry I haven’t gotten back to you sooner.”
“Well I appreciate your calling now. I’m doing an article—”
“I’m aware of that. I listened to your messages.”
“Okay. I understand you worked for REL News for a period of time.”
There was a moment of hesitation. “Yes, I did.”
“I’d very much appreciate having the opportunity to visit you. I want to talk about the time you spent in broadcast media.”
Again Meg hesitated. He told me to talk to her, now she wants to meet me was the thought racing through her mind. “That might be hard to arrange,” she began. Grasping for words, she added, “I work full-time and I have a young daughter to take care of after that.”
There was a moment of hesitation. Don’t turn me down, Gina was thinking. Get her to commit now. This might be my only chance.
“I’ll do it completely around your schedule,” Gina assured her. “I see you’re calling from a 914 area code. Are you in the Westchester area?”
“Yes. I live in Rye and I work in White Plains,” Meg said, immediately regretting that she had given out more information than was necessary.
“Perfect. I’m in the city and can meet you wherever and whenever works for you.”
“I don’t want to do this when my daughter’s here.”
“I understand. Can I meet you at work, maybe on your lunch break?”
“My schedule at work is very busy. I eat lunch at my desk.”
“If Monday through Friday doesn’t work, how about over the weekend?” Gina persisted.
“I don’t know. My daughter is with me then.” He told me to talk to her, Meg thought. “Can’t we do this over the phone?”
Gina had to make a quick decision. She knew she was taking a risk, but decided it was worth the gamble. “I’m sorry,” she said. “It has to be in person.”
Meg panicked. He ordered me to talk to her. Fumbling for words, she said, “I’m dropping my daughter at a birthday party at one o’clock on Saturday.”
“Then I’ll come to your house at one-thirty,” Gina confirmed, trying not to sound too eager.
Meg agreed and Gina jotted down the address.
56
The traffic was predictably light as Gina drove northbound on the Henry Hudson Parkway. She passed under the George Washington Bridge and fifteen minutes later had passed through the Bronx and entered Westchester County. Its roadway and mass transit system made it a prime choice for those who worked in Manhattan but chose to raise their families in a nearby suburb. A few years earlier it had had the dubious distinction of having the highest property taxes anywhere in the United States.
The Waze electronic voice guided Gina closer to her destination. Realizing she was early, she veered off and drove through the center of downtown Rye. Smart-looking shops and restaurants lined both sides of Purchase Street. Rye appeared to have escaped Amazon’s devastating effect on small retailers. Every storefront was occupied. Mercedes-Benz, BMW, and Lexus automobiles were more common than their less pricey counterparts.
Enough time as a tourist, Gina said to herself as she followed the Waze directions to a small tree-lined street walking distance from downtown. Twenty-seven Pilgrim Street was a charming colonial Cape. A late model BMW was parked in the semicircular driveway. A girl and a boy who both appeared to be about ten were kicking a soccer ball on the lawn of the home across the street.
A reporter who had served as a mentor early in her career had given Gina advice about how to proceed when interviewing a potentially reluctant source for a story. Always park on the street. People feel more threatened when you violate their space by parking in their driveway, he had cautioned. They feel like you’re trapping them. She wanted to do everything she could to avoid making Meg Williamson feel trapped. She eased the rental car to a halt at the curb in front of the house.
She glanced at her watch. 1:27. She had considered but decided against asking if she could record the interview. Too threatening. Notebook in hand, she walked up the driveway and rang the bell. The door opened in less than thirty seconds.
“You must be Gina. Come in please.”
Meg was strikingly attractive, with dark blond hair and large blue eyes. Gina guessed she was in her early thirties.
She followed Meg into the living room and found herself admiring both the room and the way it was attractively furnished. Meg has good taste and the money to fund it, she thought as she accepted the invitation to sit down.
Pictures of a very pretty young girl, mostly alone, a few with a beaming Meg, were on the piano, the end tables, and the coffee table. Conspicuously absent were any photos of the young girl with her father, or for that matter grandparents.
Meg chose to perch on the edge of a wing chair not far from her. She did not settle down but sat rigidly straight, suggesting that this would be a short meeting.
Now that she was here, Gina intended to make the most of every minute. “Ms. Williamson—”
“Call me Meg, please.”
“Thank you. Before we begin, can I trouble you for a glass of water?” It was a strategy Gina had learned from the same reporter who’d recommended against parking in the driveway. “You might need a little more time to form the question in just the right way or how to segue into the most sensitive area. Taking a sip of water, swallowing it, slowly putting down the glass gives you about ten more seconds to think while avoiding an awkward silence.”
“Of course. I’m sorry for not offering,” Meg said as she disappeared into the kitchen. She returned a minute later, handed the glass to Gina, and sat again on the edge of the wing chair.
&n
bsp; “I want to thank you for making time for me. You live here with your daughter and—”
“It’s only with my daughter, Jillian.”
“Jillian’s father?”
“Divorced three years ago. He’s not,” she paused, “part of our lives anymore.”
“I see. Meg, I’m interested in the stories of women like you. Women who over the past ten years entered the field of broadcast journalism but chose to leave it to pursue other careers. How did you find your way to REL News?”
“I went to Iowa State, and the university had its own TV station. I started working, volunteering would be more accurate, my sophomore year. I learned a lot. Before long, I was writing segments, producing others, doing interviews, helping edit pieces.”
“Were you a Journalism major?”
“Originally Psychology. But I was enjoying myself so much that I switched to Journalism and graduated with a double major.”
“So how did you connect with REL News?”
“It was through a recruiter on campus my senior year. I had filled in for one of the on-air reporters who had the flu. He liked what he saw and said REL News made it a priority to hire people who had the versatility to work both behind and in front of the camera.”
“That must have been quite a transition, Iowa to New York City.”
“It was. I had never been east of St. Louis.”
“How long did you stay at REL News?”
“Three and a half years.”
“Did you enjoy your time there?”
“It was fine. It was a job.”
“Did you end up doing any on-air work for REL?”
“A little in the beginning.”
It was not lost on Gina how Meg’s answers were short and clipped when talking about REL News but more expansive when recalling her college days.
“So, Meg, three and a half years later. You decide to leave. Why was that?”
“The hours were long. Because I was low on the totem pole, I had to work overnight shifts. I had trouble adjusting my sleep pattern. I had a two-year-old. What was I supposed to do? I couldn’t afford a live-in nanny. And it’s impossible to schedule child care when your work hours are constantly changing.”
“Did Jillian’s father object to the long hours you were working?”
Her answer was vehement. “He didn’t care. My ex was a seldom-employed drummer. He occasionally got steady work with traveling theater shows. When he wasn’t working, which was most of the time, he was hanging out in Nashville trying to get discovered.”
“So the rotating work schedule and the difficulty in finding child care—are those the only reasons you left REL?”
“Yes.”
Gina paused, hoping Meg would break the silence by adding more to her answer. Meg just stared at her.
“When we spoke on the phone, you said you work in White Plains. What type of work are you doing?”
“I’m an account supervisor at a PR agency, Hannon and Ramsey. It’s a small firm, mostly clients in the health-care field.”
“You went there directly after REL?”
“Yes.”
“Meg, one of the women I was hoping to interview was Cathy Ryan.” Gina was certain that it was a look of pain that appeared on Meg’s face.
“You’re aware of her recent passing?”
Meg nodded.
Gina continued. “Cathy worked at REL News around the time you did. Did you know her?”
“We started at REL News within a few weeks of each other. We were right out of college, both of us new to New York.”
“Were you friends?”
“I’d say we were friendly. We saw a lot of each other at work. Not much outside of work.”
“There’s something else you have in common. You left REL News after three and a half years; Cathy stayed three years. Is that a coincidence?”
“I don’t know what you mean by that.”
“You left because you had a young daughter and wanted a job and lifestyle with more stable hours. Did Cathy ever share with you why she left?”
Meg appeared to be fighting back tears. Sorrow over her friend who died or something else? She collected herself. “I don’t want to speak ill of somebody I was friends, friendly with. But Cathy was not well respected by most of her colleagues.”
“Really?” Gina said, genuinely surprised.
“From the beginning she was difficult to work with. She was unreliable. She routinely blamed others for mistakes she had made. It pains me to say so, but she was a troublemaker.”
“From your description of her, it’s a wonder she lasted three years.” Gina took a sip of water, using the time to carefully frame her next question. “Shortly before Cathy died, I received an email from her. She made reference to a ‘terrible experience’ she had at REL News. Do you have any idea what she might have been referring to?”
“I have no idea what she was talking about. Everyone at REL News, particularly her male colleagues, was always professional and courteous. It sounds like another example of Cathy just trying to make trouble.”
Gina allowed the answer to sink in before continuing. “Are you aware of any women who after leaving REL News received financial settlements from the company?” Gina made it a point to look around the room at the expensive furnishings as she asked the question.
“Absolutely not,” Meg answered emphatically as she stood up. “I think it’s time we wrap this up.”
“Just one more question,” Gina said, remaining in her seat. “Did you stay in touch with Cathy after she left REL?”
“Briefly. Not really.”
“How did you find out she had died?”
“Um, I read it online. I don’t remember where. We’re finished. I’ll show you to the door.”
57
After returning the rental car Gina quickly walked the eight blocks back to her apartment. Her mind was racing with ideas about the research she had to do and the people she planned to speak to before meeting with Geoff. She sent him a text: Major progress on REL News investigation. When can I see you? Less than a minute later he responded: Flying back Tuesday night. 10:00 Wednesday? She typed back, See you then.
Deep in thought, she grabbed a bottle of water from the refrigerator and sat at the table by the window. Following her usual pattern, she jotted down the questions she would have asked Meg Williamson if she had had more time:
When was the last time Meg had spoken to or been in touch with Cathy?
Meg had described Cathy as a “troublemaker” at REL News. Had Cathy chosen to leave or had she been fired?
Did Meg attempt to contact Cathy’s family after learning she had died in the accident?
Her concentration was broken by the sound of her cell phone ringing. “Hey there,” Gina said, genuine affection obvious in her voice.
“I’m glad I have pictures of you on my phone. I’m starting to forget what you look like.” They both laughed wistfully.
“Well I’m not the one gallivanting around sunny California,” she said. “When will I have the pleasure of your company?”
“I’m sorry to say that I won’t be in until late afternoon Wednesday. Please tell me you’re free for dinner that night.”
“I am. I’ll make a reservation.”
“Pick some place really nice because we have something to celebrate.”
“Really? And what is that?” Gina asked.
“I know I’ve bored you a lot with my investment banker stories.”
“They’re not boring. I like them.”
“Remember how I’ve told you that when a private company is planning to go public, to list their shares on a stock exchange, they hire investment banks to do road shows.”
“That’s when they go around and present the company to the major investment funds. Right?”
“Precisely. Well our bank has been tapped to work on what’s likely to be the most prestigious deal this year.”
“Are you allowed to tell me about it?”
&nbs
p; “It will be announced to the public on Monday. I think I can trust you to keep quiet until then.”
“This reporter’s lips are sealed.”
“REL News has chosen our bank to take them public, and I’ll be on the team doing the presentations.”
Gina felt her knees going weak. Had she mentioned to him Cathy’s email about REL News? She didn’t think so. Instinctively she took a sip of water. “That’s great. I can’t tell you how happy and surprised I am.”
“It was a surprise to me, too. I got picked over some more senior people. This is what I’ve always wanted to do. I feel like everything’s coming together for me. For us.”
“Much to celebrate on Wednesday,” she agreed.
“And I hope we’ll have even more to celebrate.”
Gina knew what he was referring to. Before she left for Nepal, he had talked about going to Tiffany’s to buy a ring for her. An engagement ring.
“Enough about me,” Ted said. “What’s up with you? I haven’t even asked you what stories you’ve been working on.”
If only you knew, Gina thought to herself. She hated lying to Ted, but sometimes the “greater good” theory made sense. “There’s a new editor at Empire Review. He’s tough. I’ve brought in a few ideas, but we haven’t settled on anything yet.”
“That’s too bad. I liked Charlie.” Gina, Ted, Charlie, and his wife had sat together at two publishing industry dinners. “I’m sure when the new editor gets to know you, he’ll love you the way Charlie did.”
“Let’s hope so,” she said.
“Got to go to a meeting. My bank doesn’t acknowledge weekends. Can’t wait for Wednesday. Love you.”
“Love you, too.”
As Gina stared out the window at the gray waters of the Hudson River, her mind was far away. It was hard to underestimate how complicated her life had become. Picking up her cell phone, she sent another text to Geoff. Can you ask one of your corporate lawyers to join us on Wednesday?
His response was immediate. Will do. I assume you have a good reason for asking.
Kiss the Girls and Make Them Cry Page 16