A Different Light (14 page)

“
Acriste,
” she sputtered in Greek, questioning his worth as a human being, “How dare you …”

“Oh, yeah, go into your little righteous and innocent act. Boy, did I buy into that. Poor little lonely Athen. You really had me fooled. Well, you know the expression, ‘Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice …‘”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, and I suspect neither do you. Just get out of my way and leave me
alone.”

She attempted to brush past him, but he grabbed her by the arm.

“Leave you alone? Not a chance.” He laughed and put his glass down on the hall table. He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a business card, which he snapped onto the tabletop.

Quentin Forbes. The
Woodside Herald.

“I don’t get it,” she said coldly.

“Then I’ll explain it to you.” His eyes were no longer the warm and gentle blue they’d been on past meetings but chips of ice. “I am, as of last Thursday, the reporter on the City Hall beat. I will be in your face every time you turn around. I will be in the front row at every press conference, and I will be the first person outside your door every time there’s a crisis or even the hint of one. And every time you screw up, the entire city will know about it by the next morning.”

“Why?” she whispered, shaken by his outburst.

“Because there’s nothing lower than a man who looks people in the eye and convinces them that he’s killing himself on their behalf at the same time he’s robbing them blind. Unless it’s someone who sells herself to help him to do it.”

“Quentin, you don’t understand …”

“Oh, I understand all too well. I also understand that you’re not the woman I thought you were,” he muttered. “Though why that bothers me as much as it does …”

The ladies’ room door opened, and Brenda Chapman flowed into the hallway.

“Have you met Brenda?” He gestured to the blond goddess who approached them. “Brenda’s the managing
editor at the
Herald
. Yes, I know she’s young, but her daddy does own the paper. There are worse ways to get a job,” he added pointedly.

He took the arm of a mildly amused Brenda and led her back to the rally, leaving Athen stunned and confused, alone in the great hall.

“I’D SAY SHE’S REALLY GOTTEN
under your skin.” Brenda set a champagne glass on the breakfast-room table and kicked off her shoes.

Quentin muttered something under his breath and pulled out a chair.

“God, my feet are killing me. I thought this night would never be over.” Brenda sat on the cushioned banquette and pulled her legs up under her. “Now, what was that you just said?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Of course it does,” she assured him. In the months since Quentin moved east, he and his stepsister had become close friends.

“I just thought she was different, that’s all. She just always seemed … I don’t know. Sweet. Decent.”

“So you’ve said.” Brenda sipped her champagne. “What makes you think she’s not?”

“Seriously, Brenda?” He made a face. “We both know what a big phony Dan Rossi is.”

“Ah, I get it.” She nodded. “Guilt by association. He’s a phony, she’s been hand selected to succeed him, therefore she’s a phony, too.”

“I’m sorry I brought it up.”

“You didn’t. I did.”

“In that case, I’m sorry you brought it up.”

“And I’m sorry your dream girl didn’t live up to your
expectations.” She patted him on the arm.

He shot her a dark look, and she shrugged it off.

“That’s what this is all about, right? You’re pissed off because Athen Moran isn’t living up to your expectations. You’re disappointed because now you think she isn’t the woman you first thought she was. I get it.”

When Quentin didn’t respond, Brenda said, “I hope this doesn’t influence the way you cover City Hall. I can always assign you to a different beat.”

“Are you kidding?” He smirked. “I’m looking forward to this.”

“Don’t go looking for trouble, Quentin. The
Herald
has a good reputation. I’d like to leave the paper the way I found it.”

“I’ll be fair. Objective. But I won’t let her get away with a thing.”

“Does this have anything to do with the fact that Cynthia’s father was indicted three years ago for taking bribes and removed from office?”

Quentin shrugged. “Have you ever met an honest politician?”

“Sure. Off the top of my head, I can’t think of one, but I’m sure there are plenty. Just promise me you’ll cover her the same way you would cover anyone else.”

“Oh, I’ll cover her exactly the same way, don’t you worry about that.” His jaw set. “Like I said, fair and objective. But I’ll be watching every move she makes.”

“And I’ll be watching you, bro, to keep you honest.” Brenda gathered up her shoes and her glass.

“I don’t need a keeper, Bren.”

“Actually, this time, I think you do.” She yawned. “It’s almost four. We can talk about this again tomorrow, or not, but right now, I’m going to bed.”

She patted his shoulder as she headed for the door.

“I’ll see you in the morning.” Quentin emptied his glass and debated opening another bottle of champagne. Drinking alone wasn’t really his style. He left the bottle where it was, in the cooler.

He’d been stunned when he’d first heard that Rossi was going to name Athen as the party’s candidate. He’d been sure it had to be a joke, though why anyone would think that was funny …

Once it became apparent that she was indeed running for mayor, Quentin felt that the joke was on him. His impression of Dan Rossi was that he was a scoundrel and a crook, though that had yet to be proven. There was no doubt in Quentin’s mind that if Rossi had chosen Athen to succeed him, he’d had a damned good reason for doing so.

The question Athen had put to him in the park that day kept coming back to him. “If someone you cared about wanted you to do something you weren’t sure you wanted to do, but they really insisted, what would you do?”

Was this what she’d been referring to? That Rossi had asked her to run for the office?

His answer had been questions to her: What’s in it for you? What’s in it for them?

One way or another, Quentin was going to find out just what Rossi had promised her, and what Rossi was getting in return.

 9 

As Dan had predicted, the election went off without a hitch. What little opposition that might have existed became lost in the votes of confidence for Rossi’s protégé. Dan had campaigned vigorously on her behalf, so much so that Athen had rarely had to make one of the dreaded speeches on her own behalf.

Accustomed to arriving at City Hall at eight, she continued to do so even after her election. At Dan’s suggestion, she moved Edie up the hall to sit at her old desk and serve as her new assistant. Athen had agreed for Dan’s sake, although Edie drove her crazy. She talked too much—to Athen or whoever was closest. Athen was afraid to speak openly in front of her: Edie’s idea of a closely guarded secret was only telling the first fifteen people she ran into.

Athen’s first call of the day came every morning at nine—from Dan. They discussed whatever was in the newspaper, then they’d go on to the emails from the website and talk about how she might best respond to them. Following that, they’d discuss her agenda: Dan was ever so helpful in guiding Athen through her meetings. As he suggested, at her first Council meeting she thanked all the members of Council for their support and assured them that nothing would change. Since Dan spoke with both Harlan and Jim each day, most of the discussion seemed to take place between those two Council members.

As a matter of fact, each day’s meeting seemed to follow the same agenda, except for when Jim or Harlan would occasionally ask her, “Isn’t that what you
understood Dan to have said, Athen?” She’d nod in agreement and they’d continue on around her.

Soon Athen felt about as useless as Angelo Giamboni—who after the first month or so cut his attendance to two or three meetings a week—or George Konstantos, who after greeting Athen affectionately and inquiring after Ari—in Greek—had continued his practice of sleeping through each meeting, apparently unconcerned about who was speaking, what they were saying, or even who was mayor. Fallon seemed to be the only member of the group who recognized her new position.

Athen chose to take her own notes, having little else to do.

True to his word, Quentin Forbes faced off with her at every press conference. He always sat right in the middle of the front row where Athen could not avoid seeing him. Even if she refused to meet his eyes, she would have to address his questions. She began to dread these open confrontations, when she would step up to the microphone, primed by Dan to discuss the progress of the new budget or the progress of the negotiations with the trash collectors, and he’d throw her a curve.

Quentin would rise to address her. “Mayor Moran, what is your position on the new shelter for the homeless that’s been proposed by the Council of Churches?”

“I … ah … I haven’t had time to study that proposal,” she’d stumble, unprepared to discuss anything other than what Dan had placed in her agenda for that day. Whenever she suggested that she discuss something other than what he’d given her, Dan would say, “Wait till you get your feet wet,” or “Let’s just deal with one thing at a time. Right now, this is the priority. There’s time enough to get into these other things, after you learn to handle the
reins.”

“Surely Mr. Rossi has had time to study it.” Quentin would look down at his notes, as if unaware that he’d struck a nerve.

“Mr. Rossi no longer holds public office, Mr. Forbes,” she would reply as calmly as her clenched jaws would permit.

“Then may I assume that you will in fact read the proposal yourself?” he would ask, his eyes challenging her.

“You may, Mr. Forbes.” She would abruptly break eye contact and look about the room for other questions.

And so it went, week after week, sparring back and forth, she alternately cursing the day she met him and the day she was sworn in as mayor.

He had not exaggerated. He was making her every move news of the worst sort, and it seemed to her that he was deliberately slanting his stories to put her in the worst possible light.

“Mayor ignores pleas from city churches for homeless refuge,” the headlines would shout, followed by a story that portrayed her as a modern-day Marie Antoinette. “Mayor signs new pact with FOP on first day of negotiations” preceded the article that went into detail on her late husband’s police service and made a point of highlighting the clause that increased the pension for retired officers by 6 percent when the firemen only got 4—failing to note, of course, that during the last session of bargaining the firemen had gotten 3 percent and the police had gotten 1 percent. She could not attend a meeting without him being exactly where he’d promised he’d be: in her face.

Athen looked forward to Christmas in a way she never had before. For one thing, Meg would be home for
the first time since last spring, her plans for a visit in the fall having been aborted due to her work schedule. For another, Athen would have an entire week off, one whole week to be herself again, to enjoy Meg’s company, and to not have to look into Quentin Forbes’s mocking eyes.

At the same time, she dreaded the holiday, their first without John. It would be hard for Callie this year, Athen knew, and she wanted to be there when her daughter needed her.

“Anyone here got a tree they need help decorating?” Meg had blown in through the front door. Her plane had been delayed due to bad weather in Chicago, and she’d phoned earlier in the day to tell Athen she’d take a cab from the airport whenever she finally had the good fortune to arrive.

“Aunt Meg!” Callie whooped and flew down the steps, tripping over Meg’s luggage and all but knocking the small woman over.

“Whoa, would you look at this girl! You’re nearly as tall as I am, Callie.” Meg stepped back to take a good look at her niece.

“That’s not so tall.” Callie grinned.

“Oh, a jokester, eh? Where’s the mama-san? There she is …”

Athen embraced her sister-in-law, feeling as she always did around Meg, like an Amazon hugging a pygmy. Meg, barely five two, made up for her size with her boundless energy.