Journey (9 page)

“Yes, sir.” She smiled at him, and disappeared upstairs to their bedroom with all the things she'd bought in New York, and she returned an hour later, bathed, combed, perfumed, in a simple black cocktail dress and high-heeled sandals, with her diamond studs and a pearl necklace. Jack bought her pretty things from time to time, and she looked wonderful in them. The diamond studs and her eight-carat engagement ring were her prize possessions. Not bad for a kid from a trailer park in Chattanooga, she often admitted to him, and he called her “poor white trash” when he wanted to really tease her. She didn't love it, but it was true. She couldn't deny it to him, although she had come so far and grown so far beyond it. It was obvious that he thought calling her that was funny, although hearing the words always made her wince at the image he conjured.

“You clean up pretty good,” he said by way of a compliment and she smiled at him. She loved going out with him, being his, and letting the whole world see it. The thrill of being married to him had never dimmed for her, even now that she was a star in her own right.
More people knew her than him now, or it was fairly even. He was the tycoon behind the scenes, the man the President consulted for media advice, but she was the woman other women and girls wanted to be, and the face that many men dreamed of. She was the presence in their living room, the voice they trusted, the woman who told them the truth about tough things, as best she could, as she had about Janet McCutchins and countless other women like her. Maddy had a lot of integrity, and it showed. And it came in a hell of an attractive package. As Greg said about her constantly, she was “gorgeous.” She looked it now, as they left for the restaurant for dinner.

Jack drove her himself, which was rare for him, and they chatted about New York on the way. It was obvious that he could say nothing about his meetings. And once at Citronelle, they were taken by the headwaiter to a highly visible table. Heads turned, and people commented on who they were and how beautiful she was. The women looked at Jack too, he was a handsome man, with a sexy smile, eyes that took everything in, and a great deal of presence about him. Everything about them exuded success and power, and in Washington that was important. Dozens of people stopped at their table to chat with them, mostly politicians, and one of the President's advisers. And every few minutes someone would come hesitantly up to them and ask Maddy for her autograph, and she would scribble it for them with a warm smile, and chat with them for a few minutes.

“Don't you get sick of that, Mad?” Jack asked as he poured her another glass of wine. The waiter had left it
chilling in a bucket next to their table. It was Château Cheval Blanc 1959, Jack was an expert on fine wines, and this was a great one.

“Not really. I think it's sweet that they know who I am, and they care enough to ask.” She was always gracious about it, and people came away from meeting her feeling as though they'd made a new friend, and liking her even better in person than on TV. Approaching Jack was a little more daunting, he was a lot less friendly.

It was nearly midnight when they left the restaurant, and on Sunday, they flew down to Virginia for the day. Jack hated missing a minute he could spend there. He rode for a while, and they had lunch outside. It was a hot day, and he commented that it was going to be a great summer.

“Are we going anywhere?” Maddy asked on the way back. She knew he hated to make plans, and he liked deciding at the last minute and just springing it on her. He would arrange for a stand-in for her on the news, and then he'd whisk her away. But she liked it better when she had a little advance notice. Sometimes he only told her the day before or that morning. And she could never say that she needed more time. They didn't have kids, and he was her boss, so if he decided she was leaving with him, there was no one to say that she couldn't. She was always free to go with him.

“I haven't decided about the summer yet,” he said vaguely. He never asked her where she wanted to go, but he always picked places she loved in the end. Life was full of surprises with Jack. And who was she to complain? Without him, she would never be able to go to
these places. “I guess we'll go to Europe.” She knew it was all the warning she'd get, and maybe all she needed.

“Let me know when to pack,” she teased, as though she had nothing to do, and could drop everything at a moment's notice. But sometimes that was exactly what he expected of her.

“I will,” he acknowledged, and then took some papers out of his briefcase, which was the signal that he had nothing more to say to her for the moment.

She read a book the rest of the way home, it was one that the First Lady had recommended to her, a work about crimes of violence against women, and it was full of depressing but interesting statistics.

“What's that?” he asked, pointing at the book as they landed at National.

“Phyllis gave it to me. It's about crimes of violence against women.”

“Like what? Cutting up their credit cards?” he said with a smile, and there was a pained look in Maddy's eyes as he said it. She hated it when he belittled issues that were important to her. “Don't get yourself too wound up over this commission, Mad. It's a great image-maker for you, which is why I suggested it, but let's not get crazy with it. You don't need to become the leading champion for battered women.”

“I like what they're doing, and where they're going with it. It's something I really care about, and you know that.” She spoke to him quietly but emotionally as they taxied down the runway after they landed.

“I just know how you are. You can get awfully overboard about things. This is about image, Mad, not
about becoming Joan of Arc. Keep your perspective. A lot of what they say about abused women is just plain crap.”

“Like what?” she said, feeling a cold chill run down her spine, as she wondered what he was really saying to her.

“All that garbage about date rape and sexual harassment is just that, and probably more than half the women who are either kicked around by their husbands or allegedly murdered by them deserved it.” He said it with the utmost conviction as she stared at him.

“Are you serious? I can't believe you mean that. What about me? Do you think I deserved what Bobby Joe did to me? Is that what you think?”

“He was a small-time punk, and a drunk, and God only knows what you may have said to provoke him. A lot of people fight, Mad, some take a few pokes at each other, some get hurt, but that doesn't necessarily warrant a crusade, and it's not a national emergency. Believe me, if you asked her privately, I'm sure Phyllis is doing it for the same reasons I wanted you to. It looks good.” Maddy felt sick as she listened.

“I can't believe what I'm hearing,” she said in a whisper. “Her mother was abused by her father for all her married life, and Phyllis grew up with that. So did I. So do a lot of people, Jack. And in some cases, beatings aren't enough, they have to kill the women just to prove how tough they are, and how worthless the women are. What does that sound like to you, just your ordinary fight? When was the last time you kicked a woman down the stairs, or hit her with a chair, or took a hot iron to her, or put bleach in her eyes, or burned her with litcigarettes?
Do you have any idea what these people go through?”

“You're getting wound up, Mad. Those are the exception, not the rule. Sure, there are a few nutcases out there, but they kill other guys too. No one ever said the world isn't full of crazy people.”

“The difference is that some of these women live with their assailants, or even eventual murderers, for ten or twenty or fifty years and let them continue to abuse them, and possibly kill them.”

“Then it's the women who're sick, isn't it? They can always put a stop to it by walking out, but they don't. Hell, maybe they like it.” She had never felt as frustrated in her life as she did listening to him, but he was not only the voice of ignorance, but the voice of most people in the world. And she wondered if she could get through to him. She felt helpless.

“They're too scared to walk out most of the time. Most of the men who threaten to kill their wives eventually do. The statistics are devastating, and these women instinctively know that. They're too scared to move out, or to run away. They have kids, they have nowhere to go, a lot of them don't have jobs, some or most of them have no money. Their life is a dead end, and there's a guy telling them that if they make a move, he'll kill them or their kids, or both. What would you do in a case like that? Call your attorney?”

“No, I'd get my ass out of Dodge, just like you did.”

And then she tried a new concept on him. “That kind of abuse is a habit. It's familiar. It becomes normal to you. You grow up with it, you see it all the time, they tell you you're rotten and bad and you deserve it, and you believe it. It's mesmerizing, it makes you feel paralyzed.
You're isolated and alone and scared and you have nowhere to go, maybe you even want to die because that seems like the only way out.” There were tears in her eyes as she said it. “Why do you think I let Bobby Joe kick me around? Because I loved it? I thought I had no other choice, and I believed I deserved it. My parents told me I was bad, Bobby Joe told me it was all my fault, I didn't know anything else until I met you, Jack.” He had never laid a hand to her, and in her mind not beating her was all it took to be a good husband.

“Just keep that in mind the next time you give me a bad time, Mad. I've never laid a hand on you, and I never would. You're a lucky woman, Mrs. Hunter.” He smiled at her and stood up, they were at the terminal, and he had lost interest in the topic that was so important to her.

“Maybe that's why I feel I owe it to the others, the ones who aren't as lucky, to help them,” she said, wondering why she felt so uncomfortable about what he had just said to her. But he was obviously tired of the subject, and neither of them mentioned it again as they left the plane and went back to their house in Georgetown.

They spent a quiet night, she made pasta, and they both read, and they made love when they went to bed, and Maddy wasn't sure why, but she knew that her heart wasn't in it. She felt distant and strange, and depressed, and as she lay in bed afterward she thought of the things he had said about abused women. All she knew was that something about what he'd said, or the way he'd said it to her, had hurt her. And when she fell asleep that night, she dreamed about Bobby Joe and she woke up in the middle of the night, screaming. She
could almost see him in front of her, his eyes filled with hate, his fists were pummeling her, and in the dream, Jack had been standing there, shaking his head and watching her, and she knew it was all her fault as she walked away, and Bobby Joe came at her again and hit her.

Chapter 6

T
HINGS WERE BUSY AT THE OFFICE
the next day. There were reams of things to read about the fighting in Iraq, and the U.S. casualties that had occurred over the weekend. Five more Marines had been killed, and a plane had been shot down, taking two young pilots with it. No matter what Jack did to help the President put a positive spin on it, there was no way to change the facts, or the depressing truth that people on both sides were going to die there.

She was at work until eight o'clock that night, when she came off the air. They were going to a black tie dinner at the home of the Ambassador of Brazil, and she had brought an evening dress with her so she could change at the office. But just as she was getting dressed, the intercom in her dressing room rang, and it was her husband.

“I'll be ready in five minutes.”

“You have to go without me. I've got a meeting that just got called.” But this time she knew why. She was
sure that the President was concerned with public reaction to the deaths in Iraq since the fighting had begun there.

“Your meeting is at the White House, I assume.”

“Something like that.”

“Will you come later?” She was used to going to parties alone, but she liked it better when Jack was with her.

“I doubt it. We've got some things to work out. I'll see you at home later. If I finish early, I'll come to the dinner, but I already called to tell them I won't make it. Sorry, Maddy.”

“That's okay. This isn't looking good in Iraq, is it?”

“It'll be fine. It's something we're just going to have to live with.” And if he did his job right, he was going to convince the public of that, but Maddy wasn't sold on it, and Greg hadn't been either when they talked about it. But they made no editorial comments on the news. Their opinions were not a part of their broadcasts. “I'll see you later.”

She finished dressing after that, she was wearing a pale pink gown that looked exquisite with her creamy coloring and dark hair, and she was wearing pale pink topaz earrings that sparkled as she put a pink satin stole over her evening gown, and left her office. Jack had left the car for her, and had taken a company car and driver to the White House.

The Embassy was on Massachusetts Avenue, and it looked as though about a hundred people were there. They were speaking Spanish and Portuguese and French, and there was wonderful samba music in the background. The Brazilian Ambassador and his wife entertained with a lot of elegance and flair, and everyone
in Washington loved them. And as she looked around, Maddy was pleased to see Bill Alexander.

“Hello, Maddy,” he said with a warm smile, as he came to stand beside her. “How are you?”

“Fine. How was your weekend?” she asked him. He felt like a friend now, after all they knew about each other.

“It was uneventful. I went up to Vermont to see my kids. My son has a house there. That was an interesting meeting the other day, wasn't it? It's amazing to realize how many of us are touched by domestic violence, or violent crimes, in one way or another. The amazing thing is that we all think everyone else has such a normal life, and it's just not true, is it?” His eyes were a deep blue, almost the same color as hers, but darker, his full head of white hair was neatly combed, and he looked handsome in his dinner jacket. He was about six feet four, and Maddy looked doll-like beside him.