|
|||
PART THREE. CHAPTER 32PART THREE
“The conscious and intelligent manipulation of the organized habits and opinions of the masses is an important element in a democratic society. Those who manipulate this unseen mechanism of society constitute an invisible government which is the true ruling power of our country. ” – EDWARD BERNAYS, AUTHOR OF Propaganda
CHAPTER 32
Noah had excused himself suddenly and then stumbled his way into the elegant stall in the corner of his father’s private restroom. You know you’re sick when you’re still vomiting ten minutes after the last thing was expelled from your stomach. He was still hugging the porcelain bowl, drained and wretched, feeling like he’d just capped off a marathon with four hundred sit‑ ups. Once he was fairly sure the nausea had passed, he pushed himself to his feet, walked to the sink, and turned on the water as hot as he could stand. He let the basin fill and then bent and washed his face, let the heat try to revive him until he felt whatever flicker of energy he still possessed begin to gather. He stood then, dried himself with a hanging towel, re‑ buttoned and tucked in his shirt, and then used his sleeve to clear the steam from the ornate mirror over the lavatory. His skin was as pale as a Newark Bay oyster, but while he was certainly beat he wasn’t quite out of commission yet. The doctor had said these aftereffects could linger for up to a day, but would ease as the hours went by. He took another of the pills from his pocket and told himself that the worst of it was behind him now. He needed it to be, because in addition to coming to grips with what he’d just heard from his father, there was also a score he needed to settle before a certain young woman’s trail became too cold to follow. As Noah hurried down the stairwell toward the mailroom he lost his shaky footing and nearly tumbled down the last half flight. The people he passed in the hallway stood back and gave him a wide berth; whether they sensed his illness or his anger, they obviously didn’t want to catch whatever he was carrying. He was breathing hard as he made the last corner, feeling chilled and damp under his clothes. It’s not that he expected her to be at work that day, innocently sorting the mail as though nothing were wrong. But he was going to find her one way or the other, and this was the closest stop on the tour. “Frank! ” Noah called. The department manager popped his head out from behind the sorting shelves. “Yes, sir. ” “Have you heard from Molly today? ” “No, sir. She was on the schedule but she ain’t been in. I called her agency about an hour ago and they haven’t got back to me yet. ” “Okay, thanks. Does she have, I don’t know, some emergency contact numbers down here, from her application? ” Frank looked a little surprised to be asked such a thing. “Maybe that’d be up in Human Resources, Mr. Gardner. All I could give you is the number of the place we hired her from. ” “You’re talking about that temp girl, Molly? ” Another of the mail‑ room staff had apparently overheard the conversation, and he came nearer. “Somebody called here for her over the weekend. I picked up the voice mail when I opened up this morning. ” “Do you have that message? ” Noah asked. “It’s important. ” “I deleted it, and I didn’t write anything down, since it was a personal thing. The fellow who called must have just tried all the numbers he had for her. He said her mama was in the hospital. ” Noah stood there and let that bit of news sink into his empty stomach. As it gripped him there he remembered what Warren Landers had said, up in his father’s office. It had passed in one ear and straight out his other, because, as usual, he was immersed in his own significance, as though the only bad things that existed were the ones that had happened to him. We’ll make them sorry. That’s how Mr. Landers had put it. “Which hospital? ” “Uptown, Lenox Hill, ” the man said, and then he leaned in and offered a quiet addendum. “None of my business, Mr. Gardner. But it didn’t sound so good. ”
|
|||
|