passed last November, isnow the focus of a federal investigation. The news first leaked a few days ago,when the clerks of the state House and Senate confirmed that federal agents hadsubpoenaed the roll calls on the legislation- the lists of who voted how. Oncethe reporters sunk their teeth in that, it was obvious what the feds werelooking at-the three senators who suddenly changed their votes to “aye,”allowing the bill to squeak by and pass to the desk of a supportive governor.
Now, today, the Watch is finally beginning to connect thedots. The principal lobbyist behind the bill was Sam Dillon, and anotherlobbyist pushing the bill was the ex-husband of Allison Pagone, accused ofmurdering Sam.
So it’s out now. Her heartbeat kicks up, as much as shetells herself that she knew this was going to happen, sooner or later. It’sgoing to be tougher now, for Mat and for Jessica.
She looks out at the street, at the cars passing by, thepeople walking arm-in-arm to brunch. An old man with two schnauzers pretendsnot to notice when one of his dogs urinates on a parking meter.
Jessica used to beg for a dog, but they never got one. Maybethey should have. Maybe Allison should have been stricter with Jess, shouldhave watched her more closely in high school. Or maybe they should have beenmore like buddies than mother-daughter. She can’t shake the feeling that sheshould have known that a high school teacher was preying on her daughter. Andmore recently, she should have known that Jessica was carrying a torch for SamDillon, even if nothing came of that but a girlish crush.
“Allison, I’m not sleeping with Jessica,” Sam swore to her.
She leafs through the newspaper, scanning the headlines, hermind filled with regret. She wishes, so desperately, that she could turn backtime and change what happened.
Her eye catches on a headline in the editorial section. Anarticle by Monica Madley, something of a fire- breathing liberal feminist tomost, but Allison enjoys her columns. She assumes that Madley puts on heroverly provocative persona for its own sake.
Oh, I can see it now. County Attorney Elliot Raycroft andhis assistants, sitting in a posh office rich with cigar smoke, pondering thetheories surrounding the death of Sam Dillon. “Oh, I know!” Raycroft says,snapping his fingers. “I know why Allison Pagone killed Sam Dillon. She was a‘woman scorned.’ ”
Now, for those of you living in a cave, Allison Pagone is abest-selling novelist indicted last week for the murder of capital big-shotSamuel Dillon. Anyone watching the preliminary hearing last week was treated tothe picture of Allison Pagone as a hysterical woman bent on killing a man whohad recently rejected her advances. He dumped her, so she killed him.
Or maybe not. Remember last year, when our legislativeleaders ramrodded a bill through both chambers in a single day, allowingpharmaceutical giant Flanagan-Maxx to market its blood-pressure drug Divalproalong with the generics? Well, turns out that the architect of that legislationwas none other than Sam Dillon, who was assisted in his efforts by none otherthan Mateo Pagone, who until recently was Allison Pagone’s husband.
Maybe the woman isn’t so hysterical? It gets better.
Allison rubs her eyes. The point here, obviously, is anattack on typical male perceptions, but in the process Madley is writing anopening statement for the prosecution. Mat bribed some senators, Sam Dillondiscovered it and was going to tattle to the feds, and Allison killed him.
Allison held her breath as Sam explained.
“Nothing happened, Allison. Nothing. Okay?”
She listened to him with her mind. But her heart was beingripped apart. Her body had gone cold.
She wanted desperately to believe him. But it didn’t erasethe feelings. She was threatened by her own daughter?
“I said no, Allison.”
Allison sat down in her chair, feeling exhausted for thefirst time.
“And what’s this,” Sam asked, “about the ‘look on my face’last night?”
Allison chewed on her lips, her eyes down. “I saw youlooking at her at the party,” she answered.
“You saw-what did you see? I looked at your daughter? Ithought she was attractive? Okay, guilty as charged.” He opened his hands. “Shelooks like you.”
She shook her head.
“Allison, don’t you get it?” he said. He moved to her, kneltdown at her knees. “I’m in love with you. How do I begin to convince you ofthat?”
She was in a fog. She couldn’t see him, couldn’t seeJessica.
“You begin to convince me of that,” she said to Sam, “byfiring Jessica.”
Allison turns her head away from the newspaper, but she hasnowhere else to go. The picture is becoming clearer now, for the prosecutorsand the media, and she has work to do. It’s time to snap out of the self-pityand keep her eyes open.
“Now,” she heard herself saying.
Sam paused. Allison looked away from him, closed her eyes,and heard him rise, lift the phone.
“Jody, hi, it’s Sam,” he said. “Is Jessica Pagone there?Great. Put it-put it into my office up there, would you? Tell her to take it inthere.”
Allison became aware that her face had fallen into her hands,her body was trembling. This was not right. She knew that. But she had justregained something, in these last few months, and she was attributing it to SamDillon.
And she would not let it go.
She heard him talking. It was important. Close the door, Jessica.We have to talk. I’ve made a decision about something.
“Jessica,” she heard Sam say, “I’ve been thinking aboutthings. You and I had a couple of personal conversations at the end of lastyear. I-no, it’s okay,” he said, his voice soothing. “I understand. It’s notthat. It’s just that, well-I’ve been thinking. And under the circumstances, Ithink it’s best that we find you another place to work.”
Allison felt the moisture on her hands, felt a shiver runthrough her body.
“It just makes me uncomfortable, Jessica. I-probably shouldhave done this before. I would never repeat this to anyone. I’ll give you agreat recommend-”
Allison opened her eyes, looked up at Sam, an elbow on hisdesk, his slumped posture.
“This isn’t going to work,” he told Jessica, bringing hishand to his forehead and looking into Allison’s eyes. “Mat-Mat’s a friend. Youknow this is crazy. It always was.”
A long pause. Allison could hear her daughter’s protestingvoice through the phone. Sam said nothing as Jessica spoke, his face locked ina grimace.
No, she felt sure. This was not right. This was not the wayto handle this. Yet she did nothing to stop it.
“Jessica, I’m a lobbyist. It’s the appearance ofimpropriety. It’s not about being mad at you. I’m not mad at you. I’m-this is justthe way it has to be, okay?”
There were more protests, more defensive responses. And thenit was over. Sam hung up the phone, looked at her with a wounded expression.
Allison got to her feet and left the office.
Allison’s eyes return to Monica Madley’s newspaper column,her diatribe against the cliche of the hysterical woman who lashes out at theman who scorns her. Maybe the prosecutors will read this column and come awayconvinced that they made a mistake and bought into a stereotype.
Or maybe, she fears, they’ll decide that they have the rightstereotype, but the wrong woman.
NINE DAYS EARLIER…
