SECOND CHANCE

“Speaking of work, Ms. Brady, how many times are you going to refuse my offer of a permanent job? How can I entice you? You’d have carte blanche authority, a title that would look great on a resume in a few years, full city benefits, a thirty hour week, all the percs—” Liz chomped on an hors d’oeuvre, “Stop, Peter, we’ve discussed this already, numerous times. Remember? I’m not interested in another career at this stage of my life, much less in your office. We get along famously now, and I like it just the way it is. Considering the fact that I can’t tolerate much of your staff, but I do, for your sake. That’s the best I can do.” “Exactly what I’d like to remedy. I need somebody in charge who’d wield a whip and at the same time demonstrate good judgment and dedication. You’d be perfect.” “Which reminds me, Peter, I’ve got to tell you something, but I can’t tonight, at least not right now.” Liz wanted to make him aware of her association with Harry and assure him that she had been discreet about the confidentiality of the District Attorney’s Office. He should be aware, in case he might hear comments from someone. The possibility existed, however remote, that she and Harry had been seen together. Peter ordered her another drink and handed it to her. “Excuse me for a sec, Liz.” He turned and walked across the bar to chat with a police chief who summoned him with a wave of his hand. Liz stood unobtrusively a few feet from the bar. She sipped her martini and idly surveyed the crowded room of the press corps, local talk-show hosts, columnists and the usual society crowd clustered at specially sequestered tables. There must be at least three hundred people here, she thought. Suddenly, she froze and almost dropped her glass. “Oh, my God!” She mumbled, “Why didn’t it occur to me that he might be here?” Harry strode directly towards her from across the room. She turned around, hoping he didn’t see her and scurried to join Peter at the bar. She intruded on his conversation and tried to move from Harry’s sight. Her back to Harry and facing Peter, she finished her martini in one quick gulp. “Good evening, Peter.” “Evening, Harry.” “Liz! How nice to see you here.” She turned around abruptly and with a half smile, said, “Hello, Harry.” Harry’s eyes slowly glided from the bottom of her figure to the top of her head. “Very seductive, as usual. Lots of players here tonight. You should give out tickets.” Harry shifted his eyes to Peter, “Peter, Liz needs another martini. Her glass is empty. She needs at least two to get in the mood. Maybe a dance. Depends on the sort of foreplay you prefer.” A signal from Harry’s assistant across the room beckoned him to return to his table. He left Liz and Peter, stunned and facing each other at the bar. “See you later. Save me a dance, huh, Liz?” “What the hell was that all about? Do you know him?” Peter asked. “Yes. I can’t explain now.” Peter gaped, his eyes squinted and his brow tightened in a furrow. ”Are you all right?” “No, I’m not.” Her voice squeaked in a high pitch. “Please get me another drink.” Her body trembled and her lips quivered. How dare he announce in flaunting bravado that they knew each other, and sexually, which was outrightly embarrassing. If there had been anything left in her glass, she would have tossed it at his face. He meant to embarrass and insult her, and he had succeeded. “C’mon. Let’s sit down.” Peter carried their drinks and led Liz to their table. She perfunctorily greeted the staff members she knew and sat down. Her body was still trembling, and still bearing the impact of Harry’s offensive remarks. The President of the PBA presided on the dais, microphone in hand, and urged everyone to sit down. A hush occurred in the room as the attendees scrambled to tables. Liz looked up and met Harry’s eyes from across the room. He looked away. Peter sat next to her. “How do you know him?” She ignored his question and brought the martini to her lips, peering over the glass. Harry targeted his eyes on her again and didn’t look away this time. He glared at her. For a moment, he turned and spoke with someone at his table, then resumed his former position and found her eyes again, unwilling to relinquish his focus. She looked away. “I can’t explain now, Peter.” The innuendos Harry spouted reeled in her head. Her head ached and felt the threat of a migraine developing. She reached in her purse for an Imitex and impulsively swallowed it with a swig of martini. He not only made it known she had been sexually intimate with him, but inferred that she was an available, marketable commodity. “Give out tickets. How could he be so cruel?” She whispered. And she thought she might be in love with him. Liz shuddered, an acid stomach stinging her inside. She looked across the room again. Harry glared at her, his face void of expression. “I can’t do this.” She sprung from her seat. “What’s wrong, Liz?” Peter asked. She grabbed her jacket and purse. “Please forgive me. I’m probably ruining your evening, but I can’t help it. I have to go.” “I’ll take you home.” “No, you stay. Please. Both of us leaving will only make it worse. I’m perfectly all right. Good night. I’m sorry.” Liz rushed to the back of the room where she thought she wouldn’t attract attention and recklessly moved around tables like a mouse in a maze, desperate to find the exit. She hurried feverishly and her eyes quickly swelled and tears cascaded down her cheeks.