She tried, and failed, to keep a satisfied smile from spreading across her face. “So you’ll speak with Mr. Lorette in the morning?”
He took a deep breath and gave her the slightest nod before storming off.
She’d won.
CHAPTER FIVE
November 1974
Virginia ran as fast as her high heels could take her, away from the three men huddled together in the seventh-floor hallway of Grand Central. They yelled after her, calling her terrible names. She took the corner fast, slamming her knee into the opposite wall. A door a few yards away opened slowly, and she slid to a stop. One of them must have taken a shortcut, knowing she’d never make it to the elevator in time. It was over.
But instead of a thug, the lawyer from this morning emerged. Mr. Huckle. He was wiping down his hands with a paper towel, on his way out of the men’s room. He looked as shocked to see her as she did him.
He looked past her to her pursuers, and in a split second, his entire visage changed. He stood up, tall. Huge, in fact. She hadn’t noticed how enormous he was back in his office, surrounded by all the papers and books. He filled the narrow hallway like a boulder in a crevice.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he bellowed. Virginia ducked behind him, not sure if she should stay put or make a run for the elevator.
“We’re cool, man. Just trying to help out a lost lady.” The three men began backing up almost immediately. Now that she had a chance to study them, she could see they were teenagers with acne over pallid skin, raging with testosterone-fueled bluster. She imagined Mr. Huckle barreling toward them, a bowling ball aimed at three skinny pins.
“They were going to attack me,” whispered Virginia.
Mr. Huckle glanced around at her. “Stay put. Don’t move.”
One of the men swore. “We’re going, we’re going. Don’t get all bent outta shape.”
“You’re going to be bent out of shape by the time I’m done with you. Get the hell out of here before I call the cops.”
After they’d turned the corner, out of view, Mr. Huckle put a protective arm around Virginia. It felt heavy but good. “Are you all right? Did they hurt you?”
She shook her head. “You appeared just in time.”
“We better get out of here. Follow me.” He led her down the hall, around another corner—by now she was completely turned around—until they reached the door to the legal department. “What are you doing wandering around up here? Everything’s empty, closed up in this section.”
“I took the wrong elevator trying to get back to my coat. I left it in the closet.”
The shock of what she’d just been through hit home now that she was in the fluorescent lights of the offices, somewhere safe. Her mind replayed the scene in her head, the dank smell of the hallway, the shininess of their black leather jackets.
Her head felt foggy. What was she supposed to do now? Get out of here. Virginia slid her coat off the hanger.
“What were you doing here all day?” asked Mr. Huckle. “I didn’t see you.”
“Kathleen sent me down to the information booth.”
“Did she?” He frowned.
“Yes. Since we didn’t work out. I’m sorry about that, by the way, Mr. Huckle.” She turned to leave.
“Call me Dennis. You shouldn’t go out there alone. In fact, we should go to the police and report these guys. I don’t like the idea of them wandering around up here with the other office workers. Let’s go down and we’ll make a report, see if we can actually get them to do their jobs in this hellhole.”
She looked at her watch. She was supposed to meet her friend Betsy in an hour. But if she didn’t do anything, her would-be attackers might waltz past the information booth one day and spot her. She was safe with Dennis. Nothing was going to happen to her as long as he was nearby, so she might as well keep him nearby for as long as possible.
They took the elevator down to the mezzanine level and walked through a set of doors with the words TO VANDERBILT AVENUE / THE CAMPBELL APARTMENT etched in the marble above them. He cut a sharp left, and she followed him up a narrow set of stairs. The placard on the door read METRO-NORTH POLICE.
Dennis greeted a man in a blue uniform who sat beneath a row of television monitors showing grainy black-and-white footage of train platforms. Cheap wood paneling divided the entryway from another, larger area behind him. In the smaller space, uneven shelves held files and binders, messier than in the information booth. Virginia stifled an impulse to straighten them out, clean up the messy piles. She hated to see disarray, which was why she avoided going into her daughter’s bedroom as much as possible, where bell-bottoms and peasant tops were strewn about like the cast of Hair had just cavorted by.
A sliding window looked out into a holding pen. Inside, a couple of bums had arranged metal folding chairs as beds and were asleep or, more likely, passed out. One man groaned, and the police officer slammed the window shut.
“Dennis, what’s going on?” asked the cop.
“We had a problem up on seven. Couple of thugs tried to attack one of our employees.” He motioned to Virginia.
The officer barely reacted. Just another day in the city. “Sorry to hear it. Let me call the sergeant, see if we can’t have some guys go up and do a sweep. Hold on a sec.” He picked up the phone, spoke in a thick Brooklyn accent to someone on the receiving end. “They’re on it. In the meantime, let me get you some paperwork to fill out; we’ll see if we can catch these guys.” He looked around and swore. “Be right back.”
When they were alone, Dennis looked down at her, a reassuring smile on his face.
She pretended her neck itched, covering her right breast with her arm. Her reflexive, protective gesture. Chester had hated when she did that. He’d tell her to sit up straight, stop worrying so much, that she looked fine.
They’d lived what she thought was a wonderful life together until he went to a party in the Village one Friday night on a whim, dragged downtown by two winsome girls from the secretarial pool in his office. What he saw there, he said, opened his eyes to his own true nature. He didn’t want to be pinned down anymore; he wanted his freedom instead. The timing of his ridiculous announcement, just a few years after her recovery, had left Virginia dizzy and breathless. He’d insisted it had nothing to do with her disfigurement, but she’d known better. He’d taken her to the Oyster Bar for dinner one night—probably on his way to some key party up in Connecticut—and told her it was over. She’d shielded herself with her arm, sat back in her chair and looked up at the vaulted ceiling, wondering if it would amplify her screams. But she hadn’t screamed. Just looked at him, agreed, insisted that they tell Ruby together.
Chester hadn’t settled down with one woman, and for that she’d been grateful. She hadn’t been replaced by a younger, prettier version. She’d heard through the grapevine that he’d cycled through dozens of girls and was living the high life.
“Have some water.” Dennis reached over to the water cooler propped up in the corner, filled a paper cone, and handed it to her. “You okay?”
“I think I’m a little freaked-out, to be honest.” She took a sip, stifling a giggle. “My daughter always tells me I have the wrong reaction to things. Like laughing at a funeral, crying at a funny movie. My ex-husband would tell me that I tend to babble on when I’m nervous. Talk, talk, talk. And sometimes hum. Boy, that drove him crazy. Because I can’t keep a tune. Or is it hold a tune?”
She was making a fool of herself.
“Try me. Hum something, and let’s see if I can recognize it.”
Lips pursed, she launched into the chorus of “Seasons in the Sun,” which had been circling around her brain ever since it came out.
Dennis listened, blinking with concentration. “‘Time in a Bottle’?”
She shook her head. “No! Oh dear. It’s that one about—” She stopped herself mid-sentence. “I’m sorry I’m taking up so much of your time; you must want to get home to your family.”