Chapter 39
(Two Months Earlier - April 2015)
“Who peed in your cornflakes?” Marney said, powering down her phone to avoid interruptions. Why on earth Hannah insisted on meeting in a church pew at St. Joseph Roman Catholic Church baffled her. Further, she would have to watch the potty mouth in the hallowed chamber of the early 19th-century landmark.
She’d flown in at Hannah’s request. Marney had not ever heard Hannah sound so unhinged as when she spoke to her on the phone that morning, and frankly, it had spooked her. “What’s going on?” she’d asked, responding to Hannah’s sixth text message that morning with a call. “Are you having second thoughts about re-signing with Venture Media? Because if you are—”
“No, it’s not about that. I am just struggling with something, and I wanted to talk it out. I guess, I’m saying that I need your advice,” Hannah had said. “Can you come here?”
Within an hour, Marney was booked on the next flight out to Akron-Canton Regional Airport. She jumped in a rental car and headed to the address that Hannah had proffered. When she pulled up to the ancient brownstone building at Sackett and Second Streets with its stained glass windows and manicured gardens, she shuddered. What balagan was this? she’d wondered. That Hannah wanted to talk to her in a church, of all places?
“Thanks for coming. I really am at a loss here, and I need to figure out what I need to do,” Hannah said in a voice just above a whisper. She was kneeling, and had obviously been praying. Marney was secretly hoping that she would not burst into flames and pizootz right there for setting even a stiletto on the grounds of such a sanctuary—not that she was a stellar Jewess by any means. Her relationship with the Almighty was relegated to a vague observance of the high holidays and cries for mercy when suffering a particularly miserable hangover. For the most part, she was a wretched example of piety.
“I have a deep affection for this place,” Hannah said, sliding her rump onto the hard, weathered bench. “I went to grade school here when my family moved to Ohio. I started in the sixth grade with a nun for my teacher named Sr. Felicity.”
Marney sat next to her and settled in, letting Hannah get to where she was going.
“All of our kids attended St. Joseph’s too. Even Olivia—she had a lay teacher, though, for most of her elementary classes. Times change so quickly.”
Marney did not know about such things as nuns and May Crownings, and Sunday mass. Still, she could imagine Olivia all dolled up in white lace with her rosary and little prayer book when she was young, a far cry from the somber, soft-spoken young girl with the soulful, quiet stare who kept to writing in her journal most of the time, trying to go unnoticed in the halls of her high school and social circles to avoid being teased for being the daughter of the outspoken “Dr. Hannah.” No one said it would be easy to blend in; that, Marney did know a thing or two about.
“The original church was started in 1883 as a mission. Then the new church was dedicated on June 19th way back in 1887. That’s why I’ve always loved it; I’ve felt connected to it somehow because we share the same birthday, this church and I.” Hannah smiled, and then wiped a tear that had escaped from her languid blue eye.
Marney took her hand.
Hannah shuddered and then said, “Peter is not coming back to us. Not ever. There is
someone . . . else.” Hannah let the words do their worst to both relieve and ravish her with the power of it now being spoken out loud. In God’s house, no less.
“What? An affair?” Marney said in a fervent whisper.
Hannah sniffled. “Worse than that—he’s apparently gay.” She breathed the words and let them fall in the emptiness of the massive space, along with a stream of hot tears.
“What?” Marney blurted, sanctity be damned. “You have got to be shitting me!”
An old woman wearing a kerchief looked up from her bent prayer book five pews away and shot them an appalled look before shuffling out toward the confessionals.
Hannah riffled through her handbag for tissue and began dabbing at her eyes apologetically. “I am sorry. I don’t usually break down like this. It’s just that it is all so raw. Even though I suspected something was different—for a very long time—I could never have imagined this.”
Marney took a cleansing breath and squeezed Hannah’s hand tighter.
“There’s more,” Hannah said, dabbing at the smudges of mascara that were bleeding from her blonde lashes.
“More?” Marney was in need of air. She wondered if the holy water was for anybody.
“His . . . lover, of five years is dying. He has AIDS,” Hannah said, now looking Marney directly in the eyes.
“And Peter. Does he—?” Marney asked, her heart at a standstill.
“No, thank God,” Hannah said, then, looking upward at the crucifix, she closed her eyes tightly.
“He’s clean.”
Marney slumped with relief and drew in a full breath. “Barux hashem! Thank God.”
The two sat in silence for what seemed like an eternity. Finally, Marney turned to Hannah and said, “Let’s get out of here. You look like we both could use a drink.”
Chapter 40
Marney followed Hannah’s shiny SUV to a Hilton in Fairlawn with a bar and grill with views of a sprawling pond. They sat at a table overlooking the water as the sun was beginning to set.
“I can’t drink. I’m on the air in a few hours,” Hannah said.
“Fine. I’ll drink for both of us,” Marney said, ordering a stiff concoction from the bar menu.
“Light on the adornments and heavy on the rum,” she said, waving off the waiter. “It’s five o’clock somewhere.”
Hannah sighed. “What am I going to do?”
“You are going to move upward and onward, that’s what,” Marney had said, digging into her giant designer purse the size of a football stadium and pulling out a stack of documents fastened with a metal clip that had become a bit dog-eared from the journey, but was overall, no worse for wear. It was the renewal contract for Venture Media prepared to offer Hannah four more years of exclusive syndication and a premiere satellite broadcast channel of her own—The Dr. Hannah Channel. Marney once again had poured her heart and soul into the negotiations. It was a fine and lucrative deal, and in her mind, only the beginning. The document was amply covered with yellow sticky tabs, indicating where she should initial and sign. Marney plopped it onto the white tablecloth. “I reviewed it thoroughly. It’s tight. All it needs is for you to give it your John Hancock.”
Hannah stared at the offering. It had been everything she had worked for—everything that she’d wanted. The moment had finally arrived, yet somehow, she couldn’t bring herself to feel happy. Not yet, anyway.
“Well? The best way to handle all this is to get back in there and claim what you have earned. You owe it to yourself—to your family—and to your listeners.” Marney handed her the Goliath contract and smiled.
Hannah knew that Marney was right. She had earned it. She would move forward whatever that meant, and regret nothing. She would have to.
They ate a late lunch and discussed plans for the radio show moving forward. Hannah half-listened as Marney droned on. She had a never-say-die attitude. Hannah felt lucky to have her in her corner. Hannah had her leftovers packed in a Styrofoam box for her dinner later, when she would warm it up in the microwave sometime before Olivia would waltz into the house after dark, saying that she had eaten at her friend Skyler’s, then slink off to her room, brooding. She was taking her parents’ separation very hard. On so many levels, Hannah felt that she had failed all of the family, but none as much as Olivia. Hannah sighed fretfully. “How am I going to tell them about their dad?”
“You, my friend, will figure it out. You are Dr. Hannah to the world, but to your kids—you are the greatest mom on Earth,” Marney said, reapplying her vixen red lipstick in a vintage compact
mirror.
“I think that Ty and Marc will understand, but Broderick and Olivia will struggle with it, each in their own way, I’m certain. I have to be ready for that, and do all that I can to help them cope with whatever feelings they will have as a result,” Hannah said, staring into her coffee cup.
“Wait and see, Hannah,” Marney said, blowing on her espresso. “There is so much more ahead for you. I just know it. And I am going to help you get it. Remember, living well is the best revenge.”
Hannah nodded. But it was not revenge that she wanted. Nothing about the future seemed well-timed or comfortable.
“What about a break?” Marney said. “I had a blast a few weeks ago taking that extended spa weekend by myself in Maui, and it was heavenly. Did some damage on my Amex, but it was way worth it!”
That explained the deep tan across Marney’s laugh lines, Hannah thought.
“Why don’t you have your assistant at the station book you a getaway somewhere on a beach? You can tape a few shows in advance, or run a ‘best-of’ marathon. Let that producer-guru, Jon, take care of things while you’re gone. It would do you a world of good.”
Hannah smiled. “I can’t get away that easily, Marney—I have too many obligations here. The station will never go for that, plus I have patients at the clinic. I will just dive into my work, and that will have to do.”
“Well, you should be the one calling the shots,” Marney said. “It’s your show. Hey—I’ve got it. Let’s leverage things. We need to celebrate this re-signing—and your sixtieth birthday is coming up in June, right, like you mentioned in the church.”
“Don’t remind me” Hannah moaned.
“Why, then, don’t we plan a party where we officially announce your contract renewal and celebrate you turning sixty? I can hold off with the press for a while on the news of the re-signing. We’ll make it a publicity event and do a big reveal with a giant cake, all that kind of crap. People will eat it up.”
Hannah paused and thought about the suggestion. A new decade and a new start. Why not? “Okay,” she said, sliding up from her chair. “I’m on board for that, but nothing about my personal business to the press. It has to appear that everything is the way it was. No one needs to know a thing about the divorce. We will keep it on the down-low for a while longer.”
“Agreed,” Marney said, smiling. Did Hannah really just say, ‘down-low’? “Of course, I’ll not say a word.”
Marney could do more than bite her tongue, but the truth was, it was killing her to keep the biggest secret of all, under her hat—that she had also been working on a deal of the century that would change Hannah’s, and her life, exceedingly. No deals were off limits, and Hannah was basically a free agent, as she did not have a non-compete clause with Venture. She could, in essence, write her own ticket. Marney would wait to be sure. No sense in tempting the fates. Marney’s “spa getaway weekend” may have turned out to be the business opportunity of a lifetime, with the potential to be more blazing than a volcanic hot stone massage. If it all played out right, she was certain that Hannah’s ship was about to come in. All she could do was put her faith in the future and watch the horizon.
Chapter 41
Just three weeks earlier, Marney remarkably found herself sitting across from none other than network producer Bumpy Friedman from Global Networks, who held the key to Hannah’s, and her, fate. The meeting was a result of a chance encounter three days prior at the ritzy resort where she was staying in Maui. She had inadvertently run into network executive Stone Kendall, in, of all places, the elevator at the Grand Wailea—a predicament that did little to hurt her cause of advancing her client to the top of the short list of hopefuls for Global Network’s newest daytime talk show pilot. When she overheard Kendall discussing the show pilot with his associate on a slow ride down to the fragrant lobby, she could not believe her luck. Not being one to miss an opportunity, Marney hit the Stop button on the control panel, buying twenty precious suspended minutes to literally give the best elevator sales pitch ever over the sound of the tinny alarm.
“I think that your network will be most interested in my client. Have you seen Dr. Hannah’s numbers?” Marney had said, sealing the deal with the presentation of her splashy business card and an invitation for the show producers to visit Hannah’s New York studio to see her in action.
Stone was not surprised. It happened more than one would think. But later, when he called Bumpy to relay that he was just handed radio psychologist juggernaut, Dr. Hannah Courtland-Murphy’s name for consideration, he was met with a heavy dose of elation.
“Are you for real, man?” Bumpy howled from across the Pacific. “She was the inspiration for this whole gab-fest concept in the first place.” He had remembered dialing into the radio shrink’s show in his pickup on the way back to the studio from the grocery store the fated day that destiny came to save his ass and the idea for The Gab, was born. He was already a fan, having heard a live clip of Hannah in action before ever receiving Stone Kendall’s call seemingly on-cue. He couldn’t believe his dumb luck.
“I’m telling you, man”—Kendall chuckled—“if Dr. Hannah is as convincing as her take-no-prisoners-ballsy agent, then I’d say, you’ve got a winner there.”
Bumpy knew that Hannah had the sense of authority and credibility that would work effectively to balance out an all-women host panel. Plus, she was smart, attractive, and relatable—a triple threat. Bumpy was certain that the nation’s love affair with the sassy radio shrink would transfer to television, and unabashedly agreed to give Marney a meeting.
Kendall shook his head. It was like old times. “She’d be a ringer, for sure. It would set the tone for the rest of the cast,” he said into his phone. “What do you say, Boss?”
Bumpy popped the tab on a warm Diet Coke to celebrate. “Get Hannah’s agent in here, pronto—and we’ll talk turkey. Then, let’s find the next one!”
From the island, Marney had already arranged to have a courier hand-deliver several promotional packets, a stack of audiotapes, and ratings reports personally to the gleaming New York office. She followed suit with a phone call and several texts to secure a meeting with the eccentric Bumpy Friedman. Marney had decided that she would only tell Hannah if there was a real chance of her being considered for one of the four co-anchor positions—in addition to her current radio renewal offer—to persuade her to take on yet another career move adding to her already-full plate. She would keep Hannah so booked and busy with her fast-growing celebrity and brand that she would long forget her own broken heart, and that Peter Murphy had ever been deserving of sharing her revered limelight.
Chapter 42
May 4, 2015
It was not a hard sell after all. Show producer Bumpy Friedman was more than happy to meet their terms, and would soon have himself a bona fide pop psychologist on his all-women host panel. When Marney received the call saying that Hannah officially got the job, she could hardly contain herself. She caught the last evening flight to Ohio and was waiting for Hannah at the radio station with a bottle of champagne to deliver the news after her show.
“What are we celebrating?” Hannah said, settling into her swivel chair and kicking her heels off in exchange for her more sensible office flats.
“You!” Marney smiled, producing two Solo cups, which was the best she could pillage from the staff kitchen. “How do you feel about daytime talk shows?”
“I have one!” Hannah said, pointing to her desk and very complicated piles of medical journals, awards, and binders of cume ratings and share reports.
“No, I mean—television talk shows,” Marney said, waiting a beat.
“Well, I suppose they are fine, but most of them are very boring.”
“Exactly! And why do you suppose?” Marney hedged.
“No substance. I mean, sizzle is fine, but you have to have real discussions, right?” Hannah said and then watched as Marney�
��s smile broke wide. Then she gasped. “You didn’t!”
“I did. I put your name in the hat for Global Network’s newest venture—an all-women talk show that will be airing in the fall—and you got the gig. You are going to be the resident mental well-being expert!” Marney squealed as she held out a copy of the contract before Hannah’s disbelieving eyes. “If you want to, of course,” Marney said slyly as she placed the offering into Hannah’s hands gingerly.
Hannah blanched when she saw the terms. It was more money than she could have ever imagined her radio show garnering in a five-year run.
“It ain’t chump change,” Marney said, holding up the bottle of bubbly and waiting another beat. “I met with Global Network, and they are amicable with you continuing on with your syndicated radio show and plans for further satellite distribution along with doing the tapings of the talk show. We will rework the contracts. No reason you can’t do it all.”
Hannah took a deep breath. Everything was about to change anyway, and the one thing she could fully embrace was doing more good for others. Anything to keep her going and to build her brand of championing empowerment for women. It would put her squarely on the road to a fresh start. “Yes!” Hannah said, surprising herself. “Tell them I will do it.” Hannah then laughed, cried, and then laughed some more. She was mostly in shock. “I can’t believe it,” she said, settling into her swivel chair. Was the room actually spinning? “I take it this is the work of your brilliant negotiation skills?”
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