“Yes,” she said, “nanny.”
“Why would being connected to a former... nanny... be disadvantageous to a senator’s reputation?” I asked.
“I... don’t know,” she said.
“This is outrageous,” Neville said. “I don’t care for what you’re implying.”
“I don’t care for what I’m implying, either,” I said. “But, from the evidence I have, it is, to borrow from our friend Al Gore, an inconvenient truth.”
“What are you trying to say?” Olivia asked.
“You want me to spell it out, or do you want to tell us what happened?” I asked Olivia.
“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” she said.
“You don’t have to answer this,” Neville said. “I won’t stand for it, and neither will the senator. Ms. Parker, let’s go. You’ll be hearing from the senator about this.”
“Will I?” I asked as Neville slammed his notebook shut. “Because from what I can tell, the senator would rather not say anything at all about it. And why, might I ask, are you so defensive of the senator?”
“My firm represents him,” Neville said.
“Why does the senator send his own lawyer to represent the needs of a former... nanny… from which he supposedly hasn’t seen in years, and he won’t acknowledge?” I asked.
“She needed legal help,” he insisted. “So she called in a favor to a powerful ex-employer, and he responded.”
“No one has accused her of anything,” I said. “In fact, she’s a victim here. She’s lost her lover to a terrible murder, and her sister-lover has been accused of this heinous crime. This poor unfortunate soul!”
I delivered the last line with the sarcastic gusto of the sea witch from The Little Mermaid. My theatre days were far, far from being over.
“So, why,” I extrapolated as I controlled the room by physically dominating the space, “Why would she be in such dire need to cash in her clout now?”
I paused to let the question sink in, but Neville interrupted me.
“Your intent to ruin the senator’s good name with insidious and baseless implication is both desperate and inconclusive,” he said. “And I--”
“Could it be,” I interrupted him and effected a dramatic pause. “Could it be... that the senator has... a... shall I say... personal... stake in this case?”
“Senator Malone didn’t kill Beyo,” Olivia insisted.
“That’s right,” I said. “He didn’t. Because you did.”
The room silenced, and everyone looked at her. Her mouth dropped open in shock. The only sound in the room was the faint buzzing of the camera which seemed to blare in the vacuum I had just created.
“You weren’t the nanny,” I said. “You were the call girl.”
An audible gasp erupted in the room, and even Neville seemed not to know what to do with that.
“And this ‘friend of a friend,’ that referred you to him wasn’t a nebulous network connection,” I said. “It was none other than Judith Klein, who took a twenty percent cut of your generous salary courtesy of the Arizona taxpayers.”
I laughed mirthlessly for effect, and to see if anyone would stop me. When they didn’t, I continued.
“You wanted out,” I said. “And rightly so. Whether it was a moral conviction, or Mrs. Malone paying a friendly little social call to the Tucson apartment he rented for you, was irrelevant. You decided the gig was up, you were ready to move on. Change came in the form of a one-way ticket to New York City, which I would be willing to bet that Mrs. Malone herself was oh-so-generous to sponsor you with.”
I leaned over the table and bored into Olivia’s shocked expression. “Am I getting warm?” I asked simply.
She dissolved into tears, but she didn’t deny the story, so I continued.
“That’s when you met Beowulf Vandergarten and his band of characters,” I said. “He put you up in his swanky loft, which was certainly much cozier than the bunks and hostels you had so far occupied yourself with. But comfort came with a price, which you were willing to pay.”
I took a swig of water and then a deep breath. I had crossed the point of no return here.
“And then... Mr. Malone himself, who was not yet a senator,” I said, “but a board member for Starbright Media, decided for whatever reason, to pop back up and ruin your new life in Brooklyn. Why... Ms. Parker… would he do that? Did you call him?”
She was crying again, and I let her weep for a minute. Then she spoke.
“It’s true,” she said. “Okay, it’s all true. Beyo and I were having problems, so I told John I wanted to come back, and we started talking again. Then, he came to New York to visit me, and by then things were good with Beyo again, and Beyo told him to get lost. But, afterward, I had to tell Beyo everything about John. He said he was okay with it, and he was for a while.”
“And then what happened?” I prodded once she had trailed off for a few minutes.
“Then,” she said, “things started getting weird between me and him, and I... I don’t know.”
“Define weird,” I said.
“Our relationship was strained,” she said. “He seemed to resent me and treated me like I was less than the other girls. Eventually, our relationship faded, and then we stopped talking altogether. We just lived and worked together.”
“Was that when you developed feelings for Julianna?” I asked.
She looked horrified. “Does she... does she know?”
I shook my head. “Not unless you told her.”
“No,” she said. “I never told Julianna how I felt about her, but she and I had a connection that... well, it’s the reason I couldn’t leave the group. It was, my world revolved
