Clearly impressed by the turnout, Mr. Duggan approached with an outstretched hand. “That was simply wonderful. This is a big store and I’ve never seen it so full for an author appearance.”
Anna was pleased. “Thank you. Perhaps we can sneak the star of the show out a back or a side entrance?” She glanced toward the crowd that was slow in dispersing, either from the sheer number of people, or the fact that many people appeared engrossed in discussion.
“Of course. This way.”
Flic hung back. “Hold on a minute.” They glared at her. “Isn’t that suggesting I’m a bit of a coward? I come and say what I have to say and then sneak out the back door? I’d like to go out the front. Say thank you to my supporters.”
“And say what exactly to your critics?” Anna’s charm had deserted her.
Flic wasn’t entirely sure what she would say to her critics. It just wasn’t in her nature to sneak out the back. “Look, I get the distinct impression people are leaving here holding on to their own opinions, yes, but also valuing the opinions of others. I think I should go out the way I came in.”
Anna looked at Mr. Duggan who merely shrugged. Flic knew he could no more predict the outcome from that course of action than she could.
“We need to start this as we mean to go on,” said Flic.
Anna raised her hand, buying time to think. “Okay. I agree with you. It’s a work of fiction. It’s only a book. We shouldn’t appear intimidated by anyone who disagrees.”
Anna was trying to convince herself more than anyone else, but Flic was getting her way, so she just went with it. “Good. Then let’s go.”
With Anna behind and Mr. Duggan leading a path through the crowd, they made their way to the shop front. Some people smiled their good-byes to her, others nodded, and she knew that those who turned their backs simply didn’t want a damn thing to do with her.
As they reached the front door, one of the shop assistants pushed through the crowd toward Mr. Duggan. He was clearly distressed. “Um, sir, you might not want to go out there.”
They all stared through the window. There were a handful of protestors, but nothing Flic didn’t think she couldn’t handle. She pushed past Mr. Duggan and out onto the street, not willing to wait around for yet another discussion on a subject that had already been agreed upon.
It was an avoidable miscalculation.
Chapter Ten
Flic had seen only a small section of protestors. To the left of the shop, about fifty people deep, was an incensed mob, and within seconds of her stepping onto Grafton Street, they surrounded her.
She had foolishly and arrogantly marched into the middle of a thuggish rent-a-crowd.
Every single placard bore an anti-religion or anti-gay message, some intertwining the two with the most horrific of them claiming homosexuality was akin to pedophilia. Anger stirred inside her.
The mob closed in. They yelled obscenities and spat at her feet. Mostly men and all Caucasian, they screamed that the pope was a filthy faggot, that he sodomized young boys, and that she should be burned on a cross or fuck a man like all women should. The noise was deafening, and her personal space decreased with every passing second.
She struggled to remain on her feet as the crowd constantly surged and retreated. Flic’s anger disappeared as pure fear constricted her chest and esophagus. She fought to breathe as freely as she could just moments ago, and she began gasping for air, short and shallow. She had made an amateur mistake. She should have waited for the others, at least discussed a plan, or reassessed the best departure point under the circumstances. It was irrelevant that these hooded men hadn’t even bothered to set foot inside the bookshop and listen to a single word she had to say. They had probably received the call on some social media site and flooded Grafton Street to play the heavies. They weren’t interested in healthy debate or sharing opinions or ideas, they were redneck thugs taking pleasure in yelling abuse and making trouble for any cause where their dominant white male supremacist egos could shine in all their glory.
The men groped her, pushed her, and one handsome young man snarled at her that she should have her clit cut off if she didn’t know how to fuck properly.
Terrified, Flic struggled to fight her way back to the shop, back to Anna, but that was a foolish strategy. The more she grappled through the men, the more they touched her, yelled at her, and propelled her deeper into the fray.
“Anna!” Flic roared so hard her throat hurt. She had wanted her scream to bellow above the din of the mob, but it provided little contest and was barely audible to even herself.
Her clothes were being pulled in all directions when suddenly, just as her panic was about to reach suffocation point, her arms were pinned powerfully to her sides. Preparing one final act of defiance before she was sure she would pass out, she glanced down to try to locate her captor’s feet, thinking she would aim what she hoped would be a bone-crushing blow to the bridge of his foot. Her eyes, however, didn’t search past the arms that encircled her, and she felt a wave of relief. From elbow to wrist, she was enveloped in fluorescent-clad arms. It was the police. Her debilitating panic began to subside.
The crowd quickly dispersed. Cowards, the lot of them. They certainly didn’t believe in this cause passionately enough to be arrested for it.
Flic was rapidly ushered to a waiting police car, driven no more than three streets away from the shop, and transferred to an ambulance. There had been little chance to talk to the police. They were busy negotiating traffic and talking on the loud CB radio. Before she could utter a word through her shallow breathing, the ambulance doors banged closed and the van began to move.
“Wait,” she panted. “Where’s Anna?”
A paramedic wearing a name badge that said “Andrew,” smiled warmly and placed an oxygen mask over her face.
“The others will meet us at the hospital,” he assured her. “For now though, I’d like you to look at me and breathe slowly.” He sat directly in front of Flic, holding her hands gently in her lap and breathing animatedly for her to follow. “You’re hyperventilating a little, but we’ll have it under control soon. My name’s Andrew.”
She involuntarily eyed his name badge.
“I guess you already knew that.” His smile soothed her.
Flic felt like her brain was running at a thousand thoughts a second. She felt dirty, and even through the antiseptic aroma of the ambulance, she could still smell the alcohol and cigarette smoke from many of the men.
Lightning fast, Andrew produced a bag and smartly whipped the oxygen mask from Flic’s face. She vomited bile and what looked like watery vegetables into the bag.
“How did you know I—” She vomited again.
“Your hands have gone clammy and your face went as white as my shirt.”
Flic felt embarrassed. “I’m usually tougher than this.”
“Really? When was the last time a bunch of idiots accosted you in the street?”
Flic shrugged.
He handed her a paper towel to wipe her face before replacing the oxygen mask. “Just until we reach the hospital.”
“I’m okay,” she mumbled through the plastic.
“Good. But I want you to sit back and relax and enjoy the ride in my shiny van.”
As if her body had been waiting for permission, she relaxed back into the seat and let her head rest on the slightly cushioned panel behind her.
Andrew checked her over, asking if she’d suffered any head trauma or any other trauma to the rest of her body, mainly her vital organs, but to each question she shook her head. Her body ached, but it sounded ludicrous when she mumbled she’d simply been pushed, groped, and manhandled. Maybe bruises would show tomorrow, but when Andrew removed her jacket and checked over her stomach and back, she had barely a scrape on her.
Anna rushed through the emergency department with such gusto, Flic became embarrassed; she wasn’t that injured. Upon seeing Flic staring at her, Anna’s cheeks colored and she slowed down, sucked in
a deep breath, and looked awkward attempting an air of nonchalance.
“I’m okay, Anna. Nothing broken and hardly a mark on me.”
Anna held her emotions in check. “I can see that.”
Flic nervously adjusted herself on the bed. “Good.” She was annoyed that she’d allowed herself to think Anna cared. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to go to the bathroom. Now you’ve seen me, I assume you’ll let Dee know I’m in one piece and fit to continue with the tour.”
Masking slight shock at her early dismissal, Anna simply nodded and retreated.
The emergency nurse returned with a clipboard and a pen. “Did I hear you say you needed the bathroom? It’s past the nurses’ station, second on the right.”
“Thanks, but I’m fine.” Flic shrugged because she couldn’t think of a decent lie. “Crowd control.”
“I see. Is she your boss?”
“No.” Flic laughed. “She’s gone to call my boss. She’s…difficult.” Flic wasn’t sure if she was describing Anna’s personality or her own inability to understand her. Either way, the clipboard housed a discharge form, and Flic eagerly signed it.
Sitting next to Anna in the waiting room was a police officer. She figured he knew about as much as she did and wondered why he was there.
“I’m Officer Bourke. I’d like to take a quick statement from you and drive you home.”
Anna nodded when Flic looked to her. “It’s just precautionary, but we’ve changed hotels and we thought a lift there might be appropriate.”
“There were protestors at the hotel?”
“No.” Anna was quick to reassure her.
“We just don’t want anyone getting any ideas,” Officer Bourke explained.
Flic sat in the rear of the unmarked police car while Anna sat beside her making phone calls to arrange an increase in security. Not that Anna shared the details with her, but as far as Flic could ascertain, someone would meet them at the hotel in the morning to take on the role of personal security. Flic felt vulnerable and alone watching Anna arrange things. She at least had a purpose, something to take her mind off things, while in contrast, Flic felt useless and violated with no one to talk to and no one to share her emotions with. She shifted her body toward the window as tears slid onto the lapels of her filthy jacket.
The new hotel was just as lavish as the previous one, but it failed to impress. Upon entering her room, Flic stripped, leaving a trail of clothes toward the bathroom where she spent considerable time allowing a powerful stream of water to bounce off her head, neck, and shoulders. She was tired. It had been a long day.
At ten o’clock, barely thirty seconds into the news, there was a faint knock at the door.
“Flic, it’s just me, Anna.”
Flic rose from the bed slowly, staring for a long moment through the tiny peephole in the door. Anna was still dressed in her suit, although her makeup had all but disappeared. It annoyed Flic to notice how attractive she was with or without makeup. She unlatched the door and swung it open, barely greeting Anna before returning to the bed.
“We should watch the news.” Anna ignored Flic’s indifference.
Flic gestured to the TV just as the newsreader returned to the screen. A photograph of Flic’s head and a fade-in of her book cover filled the top right hand corner. The headline read “Anti-gay Clashes.”
Flic sat up.
“No arrests were made at St. Stephen’s Green this evening immediately following hostile scenes at the conclusion of the book launch of Felicity Bastone’s controversial novel, Holy Father, Holy Secret. Police say an angry mob of approximately fifty protestors moved from Grafton Street after Miss Bastone was taken to hospital and proceeded to clash with members of a Catholic Church group peacefully supporting Pope Valentine II. The crowd dispersed as the guards arrived.”
The newsreader then crossed to a reporter at St. Stephen’s Green who described the events of the evening before interviewing a woman in her mid forties.
“Catholicism is not exclusively for heterosexuals,” she said. “We support a gay pope and the right to share your love with a man or a woman.”
There was more, but Flic was too astounded by the courage of this woman. The report had finished by the time she refocused her attention.
She stared at Anna. This news report had been the only thing able to put a smile on her face all evening. “Well, there you go.”
Anna remained impassive. “Breakfast in my room tomorrow morning at eight. We have a teleconference with Dee and some security issues to discuss.”
Flic nodded.
Anna reached the door. “I just wanted to say…” She stalled. “I’m glad you’re okay.”
The door closed softly behind her as she left Flic to her own thoughts.
After a nightcap and about an hour tossing and turning, Flic drifted into a restless sleep, confused about Anna, but deeply thrilled to have seen the woman on the TV. She wasn’t the only one willing to speak out that a gay pope would not cause the apocalypse.
The fact remained, Pope Valentine II had been gay all this time, and the world had not ended.
Chapter Eleven
Anna sipped wine and paced her room. She couldn’t sit still and weaved between bed, desk, and sofa while she finished her drink. Day one and it had all gone belly up. She couldn’t believe it had gone wrong so soon. The phone call to Dee transpired as expected, although she was annoyed by Dee’s inference that it would make great headlines and sell more books. Who was she kidding? If Dee hadn’t made the connection, she would have brought it to her attention. That was the job of a marketing expert after all.
The main thing was that Flic was okay. Their schedule would suffer a slight disruption. Dee was spot-on; book sales and interest in Flic would only benefit from the incident.
She took a large swig of her drink and sighed. Again, who the hell was she kidding? The fact that this clash with protestors was great for publicity wasn’t at the forefront of her mind. What was disturbing her was her genuine concern for Flic. Cold, heartless, and sales-driven she could deal with, but this caring and concerned side to her polished personality scared her half to death. She poured more wine and wondered if she paced for long enough would she wear another pattern into the already hideously patterned carpet.
Anna felt like an idiot, running through the hospital to see Flic. No doubt she looked like one too, but as it turned out, Flic couldn’t have cared less if she were there or not. Perhaps Flic associated her with the mob clash that evening, but surely even Flic understood that she would never condone violence and intimidation whether it supported her cause or not.
Obviously, there was no reason for Anna to want to be close to Flic, but she’d been willing to offer support and comfort. Regardless of their differing opinions, she cared for Flic on a professional level, and she endeavored to do better in the future.
She stared at the bed. It was late. A new security detail was arriving tomorrow, and she had to coordinate Flic’s press in the morning. She needed sleep, but she knew it wouldn’t come soon.
*
Flic’s body ached, and it weighed her down, heavy and tender. When she looked beneath the covers at her naked form, she was surprisingly pleased to see faint bruises forming all over. They acted as a reminder that nothing in life came easy but standing up for what you believed in was worthwhile. It was six in the morning, and she just knew she looked like shit. An old shoulder injury from her days of volleyball had resurfaced, and sleeping on her left side had caused the pain that had woken her.
Without a second thought, she took the ibuprofen the nurse had sent her home with and settled back down, drawing her knees up to her chest, this time on her right side.
She checked her phone—a message from Laura who’d obviously just seen the news, and a message from Anna informing her that the scheduled morning and afternoon radio show appearances had been postponed until further notice or until solid arrangements could be made to improve her security. She imagined she would
conduct them via the telephone if need be in the ensuing days.
She felt the tablets begin to work as she messaged Laura to tell her she was still in one piece, and she simply wrote the word “okay” to Anna.
Within fifteen minutes, there was a light tap at her door. Her heart faltered when she recognized the knock as Anna’s. She recognized the knock. When had she committed the gentle tap and rhythm of Anna’s knock to memory? Her stiff body protested as she pulled on the hotel robe. Anna didn’t wait for an invitation when she opened the door. She was dressed in a pair of jeans and a shirt, and the aroma of coffee wafted with her. She looked tired and lovely all at once.
“I thought you’d like a real coffee this morning.” Anna held the cardboard carton out. “They’re both for you.”
“How did you know I was awake?”
“You just messaged me.” Anna stepped around Flic and into the room.
“Did you go and get these after I messaged you?” Anna was certainly sending Flic’s head spinning.
“Well, I’m not telepathic. I was already up.” She fidgeted uncomfortably, her relaxed persona fading.
Anna stood swapping her weight from leg to leg. She appeared to have something to add, so Flic sipped the coffee and waited. “I know I was all business last night.” Anna made the briefest eye contact before separating the tall curtains a slight crack and staring out over a waking Dublin. A heavy fog had settled overnight. “I had things to arrange, and Dee would expect some progress before we spoke this morning. You said you were okay.”
Flic was struggling to see Anna as a whole person. She’d never encountered anyone like that before. Their personal—albeit strained—relationship seemed to run parallel to their professional one, rarely ever in synchronization and certainly never uniting. It was problematic for her that she could never predict Anna’s behavior regardless of the situation.
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