“You saved your own ass, not mine,” he said so no one else could hear them. The producer had already walked away, and Greg had gone back to his office. “You were the one on the line here.”
“The public got cheated.”
“They would have been pissed out of their minds, if every flight in and out of Kennedy had been canceled for three days.”
“Well, I'm glad we didn't piss them off, aren't you? I bet the people on Flight 263 were real glad too. It's a lot better to kill people than to make them angry,” she said grimly.
“Don't push your luck, Maddy,” he said ominously, and she could see that he meant it. She said nothing, and walked right by him to her office. Greg was just leaving when she got there.
“Are you okay?” he whispered, not sure how close Jack was; he had stayed in the studio to talk to the producer.
“Not really” she said honestly. “I don't know what I am. Heartsick mostly. I sold out, Greg,” she said, fighting back tears. She hated herself for it.
“You had no choice. Get past it. This was too big for you to tackle. How is he?” he asked, referring to her husband. “Pissed? He shouldn't be. You gift-wrapped it for him, and you sure got the FAA off the hook, and everyone else with it.”
“I think I scared him,” she said, smiling through her tears.
“Never mind him, you scared the shit out of me. I thought I was going to have to put my jacket over your face to shut you up, before someone killed you. They might have, you know. They would have said you had a psychotic break, that you've been unstable for months, under psychiatric care, schizoid, they'd have done everything they had to. I'm glad you didn't do anything really stupid.” She was about to say something just as Jack walked into her office.
“Get your things, we're leaving.” He didn't even bother to acknowledge Greg. Jack was satisfied with Greg's ratings, but he had never liked him, and never bothered to pretend he did. But he spoke to Maddy now like a servant, just someone to be ordered around and carry out his orders. She picked up her handbag and walked out of the office without saying a word. She wasn't sure how, but she knew that after today things would be different between them. They each felt betrayed by the other.
Jack followed her to the elevator, and they rode downstairs in silence, and it was only once they were in the car that he spoke to her again. “You came damn near close to ending your career today. I hope you know that.”
“You and your friends killed four hundred and twelve people. I can't even imagine how that must feel. Compared to that, my career doesn't mean much.”
“I'm glad you think so. You were playing with fire out there. You were told to only read your approved copy.”
“I thought the death of more than four hundred people merited some small comment. I didn't say anything you could object to.”
They sat in silence again until they got home, and then he looked at her with contempt, as though to remind her that she was unimportant. “Pack your bags, Mad. We're leaving tomorrow.”
“For where?” she said without interest.
“Europe.” As usual, he offered no details, and hadn't asked her.
“I'm not going,” she said firmly, determined this time to fight him.
“I didn't ask you. I told you. You're off the air for two weeks, I want you to cool off and remember what the ground rules are before you go back on the show again. Elizabeth Watts is covering for you. She can do it permanently, if you'd prefer it.” He wasn't pulling any punches. Elizabeth Watts was the anchorwoman whose place Maddy had taken when she got there. She still covered for Maddy during vacations. It was in her contract, although she was still bitter about having been unseated by Maddy.
“I don't really care at this point, Jack,” Maddy said coolly, “if you want to fire me, go ahead.” Her words were brave, although she felt a tremor of terror as she watched him. In some ways, although he had never been physically violent with her, he had always scared her. The power he exuded from every pore was not only directed at others, but at her as well.
“If I fire you, you'll be washing dishes somewhere. You'd better think of that before you shoot your mouth off. And yes, you are going with me. We're going to the South of France, Paris, and London. And if you don't pack your things, I will. I want you out of the country. You're not giving comments, interviews, or editorials of any kind. You are now officially on vacation.”
“Was that the President's idea, or yours?”
“Mine. I run the show here. You work for me. You're married to me. I own you,” he said with a force that took her breath away as she listened to him.
“You don't own me, Jack. I may work for you, and I'm married to you, but you don't own me.” She said it softly, and firmly, but she looked frightened. Ever since her childhood, she had hated confrontation and conflict.
“Am I packing or are you?” he asked, without further comment.
She hesitated for a long moment, and then walked through their bedroom to her dressing room, and took out a suitcase. There were tears in her eyes when she did it, and she was crying openly as she tossed bathing suits and shorts and T-shirts and shoes into the suitcase. All she could think as she did it was that things never changed much. Bobby Joe may have pushed her down the stairs, but Jack had done a good job of it today, without ever touching her, or barely. What was it about men like them that made them think they owned you? Was it the men she chose, or did she ask for it? It hadn't quite come clear to her, as she folded four linen dresses and put three pairs of high heels into the suitcase. Twenty minutes later, she was finished and went to take a shower. Jack was in his bathroom packing.
“What time are we leaving tomorrow?” she asked when she saw him again in their bedroom.
“We leave here at seven o'clock in the morning. We're flying to Paris.” It was all she knew about the trip, but she really didn't care now. He had made his point, and she had bought into it. For all her brave words, she had proved to both of them that he owned her.
“I guess there's one advantage to having your own plane,” she said as she climbed into bed with him.
“What's that?” he asked, thinking she was making idle conversation.
“At least we know there won't be a bomb on it. That's a definite plus,” she said, and turned her back to him as she got into bed beside him. He didn't answer her as he turned off the light, and for once, he didn't touch her.
Chapter 7
THEY ARRIVED IN PARIS AT TEN P.M. local time, and there was a car waiting for them. It was a beautiful warm night as they drove to the Ritz, and got there at eleven o'clock. The Place Vendôme was brightly lit, and the doorman recognized them immediately. But in spite of the beauty of the scene, it was anything but romantic to Maddy. For the first time in years, she felt like a prisoner. Jack had crossed over the line. And she looked blank and felt numb as she walked into the lobby behind him.
She usually loved going to Paris with him, but not this time. There was nothing but ice and pain between them, and for the first time in years she felt the sick feeling of being abused, and she knew that although he hadn't battered her, he might as well have. It was a side of him she had never before confronted, and she wondered now how often and in how many ways this had happened. She had never allowed herself to think of it before, but now the feelings were no different than they had been in Knoxville with Bobby Joe. The setting was just fancier, but she realized now that she was still the same person. She was just as trapped as she had been then. Jack's words of the night before still echoed in her ears as they brought the bags in, “I own you.” And she had agreed by coming with him.