by Liz Newman
“You know,” she said, “I thought if I lost this award tonight I’d at least come away with the glory of being nominated. Now I can’t even salvage my dignity.”
“Everyone makes mistakes. You recovered well,” Sal soothed.
“I’ll never live this one down,” she sniffed. “Everyone will laugh at me.”
“Skye, you haven’t hurt anyone. If anything, you gave everyone something to smile about. They cannot attack you as a person. You are a good person.”
“I’m not. You don’t even know me. Who am I kidding? I deserve misery. It’s a debt to be repaid. I looked like an idiot! I had planned to present a new network show to Alfred and ask for a raise tomorrow morning.”
“What was the name of the show?”
“From Tragedy to Triumph. There are multiple studies showing that viewers are leaning toward what is called reality television, programs that involve real people, instead of actors, and their true life stories. From Tragedy to Triumph was to be about people overcame tragedy. What does it matter now anyway?”
“It sounds nice. Tell Alfred about it, regardless of what happened tonight.”
“I am a laughingstock now. Is there a word for that in Italian? When the footage of this gets out…What do you know about ratings and production anyway? Why am I even talking about this? I made a fool of myself and the world as I know it has come to an end.”
“I know that only a woman with a heart of gold does what you do every day: submerge yourself in people’s miseries to uncover small grains of universal truth,” Sal said. “I’ve spent my life watching people, never loving, never giving. Why make yourself suffer from one moment of embarrassment when you have devoted your life to comforting millions? Do not be too hard on yourself. Please. It saddens me. As a guest of your country, your obligation is to make me happy. This is America, isn’t it?”
Skye giggled, sniffling. The car stopped Skye gathered her things. Sal ordered the driver to stay inside, but he hopped out anyway, opened the door for her, and then stood on the sidewalk.
She took two steps and then turned around. “Will you come inside with me?” she asked Sal.
He sighed. “I’m sorry, Signorina. I must refuse.”
“Just for a little while. I could use the company.”
“I am at your service,” Sal said. He took a business card from the chauffeur. “Stay nearby. I will be calling shortly,” he said in a hushed tone.
Skye rolled her eyes and walked up the stairs, removing her keys from her clutch. Her shoulders drooped, defeated. She opened the door and they walked in, and she closed the door behind him, turning and facing him. He reached forward and wiped away a tear. She stepped forward and clutched his body to hers, and he put his arms around her. His body felt firm, yet pliable. She didn’t dare turn her face toward him for a kiss, as she could tell by his controlled breathing he would hesitate, and she couldn’t stand another rejection.
She poured them each a stiff gin and tonic with a slice of lime and sat down across from him. “Tell me your story.”
“Where would you like me to begin?”
“With your home. Tell me about Rome.”
He leaned forward and placed his elbows on his knees. “Right now, I live at Villa Pastiere. You would love it there. There are groves of olive trees, and the scent of cypress and juniper fill the air. The silence is wondrous; the spirits whisper through the wind as it rushes through the leaves.”
Skye put her full drink down on the rug next to the couch, took off her shoes and lay down. “I wish I was there, right now. Away from New York. Away from this sick feeling inside.”
“The gardens would bring you so much peace. They used to be in such disrepair. I have devoted my life to making the land magnificent. Giuseppe will continue my work when I am gone.”
“Where are you going?”
“I prefer not to say. But I will be leaving in a matter of days, so if you go, you will have the villa all to yourself.”
“Can I join you?”
His hazel eyes pierced hers as he spoke, swishing the liquid in his glass around slowly. “Desire is what I seek escape from.”
If anyone can pull me out of my misery, just for tonight, , she thought as she watched him. He stared at her with his heart in his eyes, but she didn’t think less of him for it, unlike the other men she had seduced in the past. She stood before him and let her mink stole cascade around her ankles. “Desire?” she asked. “What’s so bad about that?”
He looked at her longingly. Leaning back on the couch, but he tried to put as much space between them as possible. He stared at the clock on the wall.
“If you are looking for peace, I believe you will find it in Rome, at the villa. So long as Cecilia is not there. You should go there. I built the gardens, transforming them from a dilapidated mass into a paradise. It would please me to know you might someday enjoy it. She will be gone for another month, at least.” He looked down at the floor, tapping the cushion of the chair with his fingertips. She sank back onto the sofa opposite him, exhausted.
“And leave my empire?” Skye waved her hand around. “During this Golden Age?”
He gazed at her patiently.
“So involved you are with other people’s lives,” he said. “Maybe you have a few stories of your own?”
“Ready to hear the saddest violin in the world play?”
“Try me. I like sadness. Can’t you tell?”
“You are that dark, morose type.” She draped her body across the couch, resting her head on an outstretched arm. Like a vessel willing to be filled, he tipped his head and smiled with encouragement. She wanted to satisfy him, with all that burdened her heart. He was a stranger, and perhaps if she poured her feelings out to him, his absence for the rest of her life would take the sadness away and replace it with apathy. The emptiness would be manageable. The stories burst forth, beginning with Gibson Greevey, Tabitha and the wedding, Charlie, and so on. She talked like someone had turned on a switch, sending a consistent electric charge through her body that jolted out the words. There were no more sardonic smiles, no more jive comments, no hidden guilt. She told the bare truth, about her selfish motivations, and when she revealed these buried truths, the tears and hysterics didn’t fit in, and so remained hidden. When she finished, she rested her elbow on the sofa, propping her head up with her hand, and stared at him for a reaction. No judgment showed on his face. His countenance expressed a shared understanding, and she couldn’t comprehend why a man so sincere in manner listened quietly and openly to the wicked things that occurred because of her actions. She expected him to judge her as a murderer, an opportunist, or a selfish person. At the very least, she expected the quizzical look she caught Dr. Carter giving her, as he studied her as a case to be analyzed and worked on.
“Sweet Skye,” he said, as he rose and walked toward her. She made room for him, ashe sat down beside her. She laid her head on his shoulder, and he held her tightly.
“I’d like to kiss you,” he said softly. “Will a kiss help?”
“Yes,” she said.
He pressed his mouth softly to hers, and they kissed. She bridled her passion. “Our meeting is so ill-timed,” she murmured.
“Esattamente i miei sentimenti. Exactly what I was thinking.”
They kissed again, her mouth on his becoming insistent. He hesitated, but then he let his body melt into hers. They breathed harder and faster. He lifted her up and carried her to the bedroom as she unbuttoned his shirt.
He pulled away from her. “You will regret this,” he said.
“I don’t care.”
She pulled him down next to her on the bed as they kissed and caressed. He pulled away. “Turn around,” he said gruffly
She turned over, still fully dressed in her evening gown. He ran his hand over her bare neck, down her upper arm and across her back until his hand rested at the seam in the middle of her shoulder blades. She let out a long breath as his heavy arm wrapped around her waist and pulled her
close. She waited for his next move, but nothing happened except for a soft, sweet kisses in her hair.
“You are safe with me,” he whispered.
She shuddered. The tension within her released the way the steel girders of a bridge snap under unbearable weight, and the tears flowed hot and wet down her cheeks. “There’s something wrong when a person can only cry like this with a complete stranger, isn’t there?”
“Everything is as it should be.”
She closed her eyes, sinking into the comfort of his body. “It feels that way,” she whispered. “Strangely enough.”
He remained silent, stroking her hair and holding her body as each sob shuddered through it; her tears flowed until the warmth of his body and his gentle caresses lulled her to sleep.
Chapter Fifteen
Skye opened her eyes, her lashes sticking together with congealed mascara. Sal kissed her softly on the lips.
“Buongiorno bella,” he whispered.
She turned her face away from his and rose, not wanting him to smell her sour breath. She tasted the bitterness of second day alcohol on her tongue. “Just a few minutes,” she said, leaping off the bed and grabbing a white silk robe out of her closet. She brushed her teeth quickly and showered, smoothing off last night’s make-up. She ran a brush through her hair and her hands glided over her skin with a bit of jasmine-scented lotion. Tying the robe around her body, she emerged from the bathroom and lay down on the bed next to him.
“Thank you for staying with me last night,” she said. “I know I shared a lot more than you were probably prepared for.”
“Truly, I’m glad. I enjoyed meeting you, Skye.”
She lowered her head for a minute, then brightened. “Why don’t you stay with me for a few days? You can tell me your stories. I’d love to hear them. And you can get to know me, who I really am. Not the sobbing, traumatized mess you were privy to.”
He buttoned up his suit jacket and rolled the cuffs under the sleeves. “I know who you really are. Nothing you do or say could make me desire you more.”
Her heart quickened at the mention of the word desire. He placed his hand on the back of her head, cradling her damp hair, and she brought his hand to her cheek and caressed it.
“Another time, under different circumstances, I’d stay forever.” Sal’s cell phone lit up. “The car is here. Addio, il mio cuore.”
She followed him to the front door and opened it. “Could I trouble you to translate?” she asked with a small smile. The limousine waited at the curb, its driver scribbling on a notepad. Sal closed the door, pulled her close and kissed her again.
Their lips parted, and he leaned close to her ear and whispered, “It means Goodbye, my heart.” He turned away from her and trotted down the steps, nodding at the chauffeur who held the door open.
She closed the door and went to the big picture window. Darkly tinted film covered the car windows. She felt his eyes on her as she pressed her forehead against the lunette. The car pulled away from the curb and glided on the tree-lined street. An elderly woman walking a brown terrier meandered by and gave her a quizzical look. Skye closed her eyes and turned away.
***
As she passed through the subway turnstile on her way to work, she turned back to the fare machine and inserted bill after bill. Subway tokens spilled out like a slot machine jackpot. She scooped the tokens into her hands and stuffed them into her pocket.
Riding the escalator down into the station, she heard the usual cacophony of noise. The bedraggled vagrant shouted from his usual spot.
“No comment! No comment! No comment!”
He pulled his cargo jacket around his body, rocking back and forth. Skye approached him slowly, her heels advancing tentatively on the filthy pavement, stepping on an old woman’s foot on the way. The woman, with a bandanna scarf tied over her head, pushed past her and muttered her annoyance in Armenian. Skye reached into her pocket, removing a handful of the coins. She poured out the handful of subway tokens into the vagrant’s cup. He muttered unintelligibly. Then he stopped speaking and grunted as pleasantly as a pig set down on a new hill of mud. She reached into her pocket again, stooping down to carefully fill the cup with the remainder of the subway tokens. He leaned forward, trying to sneak a glance between her legs, staring at her blankly when she shot him a look of rebuke while trying not to look him in the eye. The cup overflowed with tokens, one wayward coin rolling around and coming to rest at the sole of his worn boot. He nodded at her, grunting once again. Taking a deep breath as she walked away, he continued.
“No comment! No comment! NO COMMENT!”
She walked onto the thirty-eighth floor at Teleworld, hearing echoes of overenthusiastic greetings mixed with nervous nods from her coworkers. The news of her fluke last night had traveled fast. As she turned the corner to her office, she heard Denny’s high-pitched laughter and the low chuckle of an intern. Skye backed up a few steps, and stood outside the break room, listening.
“Before last night, I looked forward to telling my kid all about how I’d sat in the same anchor chair as Skye Evans,” Denny said. “Now he won’t even know who she was.”
“Nah,” responded the intern as he wiped his wire rim glasses with a tissue. “Everybody’s screwed up at least once in their career. Cosell, O’Reilly, Sawyer. The greats screw up and move on.”
“Yes, but what else is she ever going to do with herself? I have nothing against her, you know,” Denny responded, “but when I heard about what happened last night, I laughed so hard. ‘I was in the powder room, making a grand entrance,’” she mocked. “‘Thank you so much for the award.’” Denny laughed hysterically. Skye heard the rustle of tissue being pulled out of a box as Denny yelped. “Have you ever met Carolyn Chase? She is amazing. Even she found a man and got married, but Skye? Never! That’s why she’ll always be in front of a camera. Where else is she going to go? Alfred says she’s never been in a serious relationship and if you don’t have a serious relationship with someone by the time you’re as old as she is, something must be wrong with you, right? She’ll still be behind some desk somewhere, giving the news. And running to the potty!” Denny burst into laughter once again, wiping her eyes.
Skye cleared her throat, standing at the entrance to the break room. “Good morning,” she said to Denny with her best poker face.
“I’ve got a deadline,” the intern said. He nodded at Skye, his eyes wide and alarmed. He rushed out of the break room, his coffee spilling over onto the rug. Denny attempted to slither past Skye. Skye moved her body and stuck out her hip, balancing her briefcase lengthwise, to block her path.
“Having a little fun at my expense, Denny?”
“I’m sorry, Skye. I really am. I didn’t mean for you to hear that.” Denny wrung her hands nervously.
Skye poured herself a tall glass of spring water, and took a long, slow sip. She waved it around in the air slowly, pretending she pondered some great thought. Denny quivered.
“Last night was funny. I’ll give you that,” Skye said. “When I think back to when I accepted the Cronkite Award, the Frost Award, and all the others that I won’t bother to list, I can’t even remember my acceptance speeches. I’ll always remember this one. Why do you suppose that is, Denny?”
“How should I know?” Denny responded.
“Let me enlighten you. It’s my theory that it is basic human nature to remember the times we messed up. Oh, forgive me; I’m getting ahead of myself. It’s basic for those who are higher functioning. That is why the apex of accomplishments for the high functioning is so much higher than those who pat themselves on the back for the most basic successes. While the apes of society congregate and hoot over mistakes, I am always working, always thinking, and always finding ways to improve. Just out of curiosity, what are you planning on doing after you have the baby?”
“I’m retiring. At our home on Fifth.” Her mouth widened into a smug grin.
Skye paced before her, using her body to block her exit much like
a lioness corners her prey. “The home that used to be Alfred and Lorraine’s.”
“Lorraine’s no longer living there. He bought her out.”
“I wonder, what’s your price? What will he buy you out for? I’ve worked here for eleven years. I’ve seen him make ploys for every pretty young face in this building. You bit. Some might call you a gold digger, but most of us can guess what’s in store for you in the future. A man his age won’t stay true to you. As soon as an opportunity presents itself, he’ll take it. Why wouldn’t he? All he must lose is time, which is everything at his age. Pregnancy makes you fat and bitchy. Scratch that. You were already bitchy. Pregnancy makes you fat and emboldened. Foolishly. I’m a woman who values the truth and won’t hesitate to share it. You’ll find I make a better friend than an enemy. Do you believe me?”
“I’m not going to listen to this. You’re just a sad person who has no one.” Denny moved to pass Skye. Skye pushed herself into her path and blocked her.
“Don’t leave yet. Misery loves company.” Skye’s face loomed inches away from Denny’s, moving forward as Denny retreated. “I love fairy tales, don’t you? The princess being rescued by the prince and living happily ever after. When he holds you in his arms, those feeble, weak arms wrapped in parchment skin like a mummy, do you feel that delicious longing, the overwhelming attraction? I wonder what his level of desire for you has been these last few months, now that you’re so very…big.” Skye waved her hand up and down Denny’s body for emphasis. “And your level of desire for him. Now that’s something difficult to imagine!”
“I’m going to tell him everything you’re saying.”
“I’d like to see that. I’d like to see you reassure him that you really do enjoy sleeping with him, that you will enjoy it for the rest of his life. Let me guess, you’ll stroke his arm, tracing the age spots with your fingertips, then call him Daddy. Connect the spots. Do you like that game, little girl?”