A Different Light (18 page)

Buddy said to tell you to watch your back.” Meg paused to give Athen a hug before heading toward the security check and eventually her waiting plane.

“If you ask me, the only person I need to guard my back against is ‘Buddy,’” Athen replied.

Athen was sad when the time came for Meg to depart. Meg was one of those people who always seemed to be able to put things in perspective. While not necessarily a soothing personality, she did have the ability to shake things up.
She has certainly done that,
Athen thought with a smile as she pulled into her driveway.

She and Meg agreed to make a list of their New Year’s resolutions and read them to each other on New Year’s Eve. At the top of her list, Athen had written, “Be more assertive in my job.” If she accomplished nothing else this year, she promised herself, she would do that much.

She vowed to speak up at meetings, express her own opinions, and present some ideas of her own. It was time, she told herself, to cut the umbilical cord that tied her to Dan. Time to assert herself. It had been easier to follow as she had been led, but starting immediately, she would personally read everything—every memo, every proposal, every newspaper article—that came across her desk. She would not wait for Dan to tell her what was important and what to toss out. She was smart enough to figure that out on her own. She would have to educate herself, and quickly. She would start with something elementary.

“Guess all that stuff’s like Greek to you, huh, Athen?” Edie placed a cup of coffee before Athen, who was poring over the proposed budget the following morning.

“If it was Greek it would make more sense.” Athen peered over the top of her glasses.

At the three o’clock meeting she tried her hand at being more of a presence.

“Jim, I was looking over the budget proposal.” She took a deep breath and forced herself to speak before he could begin his one-on-one with Harlan Justis. “And I was wondering why the transportation numbers are so high. How many cars does the city own, anyway?”

Justis and Wolmar exchanged a surprised look.

“Well, the city has a lot of cars, Athen.” Wolmar cleared his throat and spoke as if to a six-year-old. “We have police cars and cars for the code inspectors and, of course, all the department heads—and members of Council—have city cars. Why do you ask?”

“It seems like we have a lot of money in the budget for vehicles,” she said. “Does anyone have a list of who exactly has these cars?”

“Well, now, I suppose someone in Finance—or is it Personnel, now, Harlan?”

“I think it’s Personnel. Could be Finance, though.” Harlan nodded, smoothing his handsome silk tie, visibly admiring its rich green and maroon paisley, which was obviously of greater consequence to him than her inquiries.

“In any event, someone has a list. I’m sure you could get one if you really think you need to. Though I don’t know why you would.” Harlan forced a patience he obviously did not feel before turning to Jim and clearly dismissing her. “So now, Jim, how do you think we should handle the residents of Fifth Street? They’re on the rampage again about wanting more officers assigned to that three-block stretch where the drug traffic has increased.”

“I already talked to Dan.” Jim leaned back in his chair. “He said just to let ’em all shoot it out.”

Stung by their curt rebuff of her effort to participate, Athen got up from her seat and walked to her desk. Beyond
the handsomely appointed room she could see the area of the city known as the Devil’s Passage, an area two blocks north of City Hall, between Fourth Street and the overpass from the superhighway beyond the city limits. Even from this distance she could see the ugly boarded-up houses, the vacant lots, the abandoned warehouses. She recalled how the neighborhood had once looked, and wondered how it had all happened so quickly.

“Why?” she heard herself say aloud.

“Why what?” Harlan looked up from his briefcase, from which he had withdrawn some documents, which were being scrutinized by Wolmar.

“Why just let ’em shoot it out? Why not send more police officers in if that’s where they’re needed?”

Riley Fallon, the lone African-American on Council, raised his eyebrows and turned to take a long slow look at her.

“Now, Athen.” Harlan took on that expression of having been interrupted by an ill-mannered child. “You of all people should understand the risks to a police officer in an area like that.”

“What about the risks to the residents?” she asked.

“Well, now, I would think if anyone was that concerned about their safety, they’d move,” he said sarcastically. She nodded slowly, fully understanding the not-so-subtle reminder that she was expected to be seen and not heard.

But at the Wednesday morning press conference, when Quentin Forbes questioned the lack of response from the city to the growing concerns of those residents who had complained yet again to the press about the increasing number of incidents involving handguns in the area south of City Hall, Athen had a surprise for him.

“I’m glad you brought that up, Mr. Forbes.” She forced herself to smile, not at him exactly, but at the space slightly above his head. “I spoke very recently with Councilman Fallon, who has agreed to look into the formation of a town watch with the residents. He will also meet with Chief Tate in the very near future to arrange a neighborhood meeting to discuss the situation. Councilman Fallon, perhaps you’d like to take the microphone and answer any further questions on this issue?”

She could feel Quentin’s eyes on her as she packed up her notes. It gave her great satisfaction to know that just this once he hadn’t caught her off guard. She felt the tiniest surge of triumph knowing that for the first time she would leave a public meeting with her head up.

She felt terrific, all but dancing back to her office from the big meeting room at the end of the hall.

“Oh, Athen, Dan’s on line one,” Edie told her as she walked by.

“Hi, Dan …,” was all she had time to say.

“Rule number one,” he said softly. “You never discuss anything—anything—at public meetings or press conferences without discussing it first with me. Rule number two, you do not discuss anything with any member of Council without discussing it first with me. Rule number three, you do not make announcements without first discussing them with me. Rule number four …”

“Dan,” she began, but he cut her off again.

“Rule number four, you do not commit the police department or any other department of the city to any project that you have not discussed with me. Do you understand, Athen?”

“No, Dan.” She paused. “I don’t understand. I don’t understand what’s so harmful about agreeing to meet with
a group of residents who are tired of being shot at every time they open their front door.”

“Athen, honey, I just don’t like surprises.” His tone was tightly controlled, each word pronounced slowly and carefully. “And what’s all this I’ve been hearing, anyway? Budget figures, city cars, how many and who’s got one.”

“Dan, I need to be more involved in what’s going on around here. I want to know what’s going on,” she told him. “I’m the mayor of this city.”

“Sweetheart, you are doing just fine.” He verbally patted her on the head.

“I’m not doing fine, and I don’t feel like I’m doing anything worthwhile. I want to feel like I’m doing something around here besides reading the paper and talking to you on the phone.” She closed her eyes, trying to imagine the look on his face.

“All right.” He chuckled good-naturedly. “You just tell me first, okay? So that I don’t have to hear it from someone else, or read it in the paper. Just let me know what it is you want to do, and we’ll talk about it. Maybe I can give you some ideas or point you in the right direction.”

How had he known so fast?
she wondered as she hung up the phone.
Who had called him?

Harlan Justis had left the meeting the second it began to break up. He must have hit Dan’s number on speed dial as he flew down to his second-floor office to report that Athen had made some unscheduled remarks.

She sat down at her desk and sighed, dejected and still smarting somewhat from the dressing down she’d gotten from Dan.
It was worth it, even enduring his patronizing manner,
she thought, as a slow smile creased her lips,
just to see the look on Quentin Forbes’s face. …

It took Athen a week to get the information she’d wanted to back up the transportation numbers on the budget.

“Mrs. Moran?” A young woman peeked around the corner into her office. “Sorry to disturb you, but your secretary’s not at her desk.”

“What a surprise.” Athen looked up from her desk. “She’s probably at lunch.”

Edie was always at lunch. Or on a coffee break. Or in the ladies’ room.

“They said—Mrs. Fulton in Personnel, that is—said you wanted to see the file on the city cars.”

“Yes, I do.” Athen motioned her in. “Thank you, ahh …”

“Veronica. Veronica Spicata.”

Athen’s eyebrows rose slightly in amusement as the young woman crossed the carpet and placed the file on her desk. Veronica’s inky black hair was pulled into a sort of twist at the back of her head and lacquered into submission, reaching skyward in the front, teased into a frothy mist that seemed to account for half of her diminutive stature. Long silver earrings dangled half-moons, tinkling like temple bells, almost to her shoulders. A small arm of silver stars marched up each multiply-pierced earlobe and a half dozen silver chains circled her neck to fall into the space between her collarbone and the top of her yellow knit shirt. Tiny feet in black patent leather high heels, shapely legs encased in black stockings, a short black leather skirt—more leg than leather—wrapped around the killer curves of Veronica’s hips. Athen’s eyes returned to the hair. She hadn’t seen anything like it since Annie Wilson back in high school.

Veronica was Amy Winehouse with a North Jersey accent.

“Thank you, Veronica.” Athen smiled and opened the file. Veronica continued to stand before her desk, snapping a wad of gum the size of Athen’s fist, prompting Athen to inquire, “Was there something else?”

“I, ah, I’m supposed to wait.” She shifted her weight somewhat uncomfortably, swaying slightly on the razor-thin high heels.

“Wait for what?”

“For the file.” She nodded toward Athen’s desk, her silver earrings jingling a tune in time with the movements of her head.

“But I could be reading this for the next two hours,” Athen told her.

“I know, but that’s what I was told to do.”

“Well, why don’t we just make a copy?”

“I’m not allowed to do that, Mrs. Moran.”

“What is this, some top-secret document?” Athen exploded. “Look, you walk outside that door and you copy this file. And you bring the whole thing back in to me, okay?”

Veronica hesitated, obviously torn.

“Are you going to tell me you don’t know how to use that machine?”

“No, Mrs. Moran. It’s just that if I get caught copying the file after Mrs. Fulton told me …”

“Don’t worry, I won’t let Mrs. Fulton fire you for insubordination.” Athen shook her head in disbelief. “Besides, everyone on this floor takes two-hour lunches. You have at least twenty-five minutes before anyone else arrives on the scene.”

Veronica was back in less than ten minutes with the file and copy in tow.

“Let’s take a look at what’s in this file that Mrs. Fulton doesn’t want me to see,” Athen murmured.

She scanned the first few pages in silence, then lingered momentarily on the fourth sheet. Veronica was almost to the door on her way back to her office when Athen said, “Veronica, you’ll have to help me a bit. Are all these people department heads? Look here, under Code Enforcement there are nine names. How many people are in that department, do you know?”

She turned the file around and slid it across the desk in Veronica’s direction.

“Nine,” Veronica replied readily, her gum snapping like popguns at an amusement park.

“All nine people have city cars?”

Veronica’s lacquered head nodded emphatically. Not one hair moved independently of any other.

“And the Parks Department … I can see why they’d have six trucks, but seven city cars? How many …?”

“Seven employees,” Veronica told her.

“Seven cars and six trucks for seven people?” she asked incredulously. “Does everyone who works for this city have a city car?”

“I don’t,” Veronica volunteered.

“Well, how’d they miss you?” Athen mumbled, scanning the list for Personnel. “Four cars for Personnel?”

“Mrs. Fulton, her assistant, and her personal secretary.” Veronica’s gum snapped again.

“That’s three, Veronica. The list says four.” Athen turned the paper around to show her. “Here’s the list of vehicle numbers. Maybe this is an old list.”

“No, ma’am, I typed that list three weeks ago.”

“Then who has the other car?”

“Come on, Mrs. Moran, you know.” Veronica rolled her eyes skyward.

“If I knew, I wouldn’t ask.”

“It’s Mary Jo’s car,” Veronica said, as if reminding Athen of something she already knew.

“Who is Mary Jo?”

“You know. Mary Jo Dolan.” The name was all but whispered.

“Who is Mary Jo Dolan?” Athen hadn’t a clue.

“Mrs. Moran.” Veronica leaned forward, pained at having to speak the obvious. “Mr. Rossi’s …
friend
?”

“Mr. Rossi’s … friend”?

Athen cleared her throat. “And just what is Miss Dolan’s position with the city?”

“Who could know?” Veronica held up her hands and grinned mischievously. “Except for Mr. Rossi.”

“Where does she sit?” Athen toyed with her glasses.

“Anyplace she wants,” the young woman quipped.

“Veronica, if she has a city car, she must work for the city.” Athen was totally out of patience with this exasperating game. “So tell me who she works for, what she does.”

“Wow.” Veronica’s kohl-lined eyes widened slowly. “You really don’t know, do you?”

“Perhaps you should enlighten me.” Athen probed for information she instinctively knew she wasn’t going to like hearing.

“Well, the story is that she supposedly works in the Personnel office, but she’s on some kind of leave,” Veronica said, leaning closer to Athen’s desk to confide in a low voice.