“How was the funeral?” he asked with a look of concern for her. He thought she looked strained and exhausted.
“Depressing. That asshole cried through the whole service.”
“The Senator?” She nodded, with her mouth full. “Maybe he feels guilty.”
“He should. He might as well have killed her. Jack is still convinced that she was psychotic.” And he was making her feel that way herself with the way he was behaving.
“Is Jack still pissed?” Greg asked cautiously, handing her his pickle, he knew she loved them.
“That doesn't begin to describe it. He's convinced I did it to spite him.” “He'll get over it,” Greg said, sprawling back in his chair and looking at her. She was so damn smart and decent and incredible looking. Greg loved the fact that she was always willing to fight for what she believed in, but she seemed worried and unhappy. She hated it when Jack was angry at her, and he had never, in his seven years of marriage to her, been this angry before.
“What makes you think he'll get over it?” She wasn't as sure now, and for the first time ever felt her marriage in jeopardy, and in truth, that terrified her.
“He'll get over it because he loves you,” Greg said firmly. “And he needs you. You're one of the best an-chorwomen in the country, if not the best. He's not crazy.”
“I'm not sure that's a valid reason to love me. I could think of other reasons that would mean more to me.”
“Be grateful for what you've got, kid. He'll calm down. Probably over the weekend.”
“He's having meetings at the Pentagon over the weekend.”
“Something big must be brewing,” Greg said with interest.
“Has been for a while, I think. He hasn't said anything, but he's met with the President a few times.”
“Maybe we're going to drop a bomb on Russia,” Greg said with a smile, neither of them believed that.
“That's a little passé, isn't it?” Maddy smiled back at him. “I guess they'll tell us sooner or later.” And with that, she looked at her watch and stood up. “I have to get to the First Lady's commission. My meeting is at two. I'll be back in time to do makeup for the five o'clock.”
“You'd be fine without it,” he said smoothly, “have fun. Give my love to the First Lady.” Maddy grinned and waved at him as she left the office and went downstairs to hail a cab. It was a five-minute ride to the White House, and the First Lady had just arrived in a motorcade from the McCutchinses' house when Maddy got there, and they walked inside together, with members of the Secret Service all around them. Mrs. Armstrong inquired if Maddy had gone to the funeral, and when she said she had, Mrs. Armstrong commented on how tragic it had been to see the McCutchinses' children.
“Paul seemed very upset too,” the First Lady said sympathetically, and then spoke to Maddy quietly as they rode the elevator to the private quarters. “Do you really believe he abused her?” She didn't question Maddy about her sources for the story.
Maddy hesitated but knew from past experience that she could trust her discretion. “Yes, I do believe it. She told me herself that he beat her, and she was terrified of him. She showed me the bruises on her arms last weekend. I know from what she said that she was telling me the truth, and I think Paul McCutchins knows that. He's going to want everyone to forget what I said,” which was why she personally did not believe he would sue the network. The First Lady shook her head in dismay, and sighed as they stepped off the elevator to be met by her secretary and more Secret Service.
“I'm sorry to hear that.” She didn't doubt for a minute what Maddy told her, unlike Greg and Jack. As a woman, she was willing to accept it. And she had never liked Paul McCutchins either; he seemed like a bully to her. “I guess that's why we're here today, isn't it? What a perfect example of an unpunished act of violence against a woman. I'm so glad you did that editorial, Maddy. Has there been much reaction to it?” Maddy smiled at the question.
“We got thousands of letters from female viewers, applauding it. Almost none from men. And my husband is about ready to divorce me.”
“Jack? How limited of him. I'm surprised to hear it.” Phyllis Armstrong looked genuinely surprised. Like her husband, she had always been fond of Jack Hunter.
“He's afraid the Senator is going to sue him,” Maddy explained to her.
“I don't think he'll dare if it's true,” Phyllis Armstrong said practically, as they entered the room where the other members of the newly formed commission were waiting for them. “Particularly if it's true. He won't want to take a chance that you can prove it. Did she leave a note, by the way?”
“There was supposedly a letter to her kids, but I don't know who, if anyone, read it. The police gave it to Paul when they found it.”
“My bet is that nothing more will come of it. Tell Jack to relax. It was a good thing to do. It shone a bright light on the dark area of abuse, and violence committed against women.”
“I'll tell him you said so,” Maddy said with a smile, as her eyes swept the room. There were eight women and four men, and she herself was the eighth woman. She recognized two federal judges among the men, a justice of the court of appeals among the women, and another member of the press. The First Lady introduced the other women and explained that they were two teachers, an attorney, a psychiatrist, and a physician. The third man was a physician too, and the last man Maddy was introduced to in the group was Bill Alexander, the former Ambassador to Colombia who had lost his wife to terrorists. The First Lady said he was taking some time off after leaving the State Department, and writing a book now. They were an interesting, eclectic group, Asian, African-American, and Caucasian, some young, some old, all professional, several well known, and Maddy was by half a dozen years the youngest among them, and possibly the most famous, with the exception of the First Lady.
Phyllis Armstrong called the meeting to order rapidly and succinctly, and her secretary sat in the room to take notes. She had left the Secret Service outside, and the members of the commission were sitting in a comfortable living room, with a large silver tray, with coffee and tea and a plate of cookies, on a handsome antique English table. She chatted with each person by name and looked around the room with a motherly expression. She had already told them about Maddy's brave editorial on Tuesday night, about Janet McCutchins, although several of them had heard it, and heartily approved of it.
“Do you know for a fact that she was abused?” one of the women asked her and Maddy hesitated before she answered.
“I'm not sure how to answer that. I believe she was, although I couldn't prove it in a court of law. It was hearsay. She told me.” Maddy turned to the First Lady with a questioning look. “I assume that what we say here is privileged and confidential.” It was often that way with Presidential commissions.
“Yes, it is,” Phyllis Armstrong reassured her.
“I believed her, although the first two people I told did not believe me. They were both men, one is my co-anchor on the show, the other is my husband, and both should know better.”
“We're here today, to discuss what we can do about the problem of crimes committed against women,” Mrs. Armstrong said as she opened the meeting. “Is it a question of legislation, addressing the public perception of abuse? How can we deal with this most effectively? And then, I'd like to see what we can do about it. I believe we all would.” Everyone around the room nodded. “I'd like to do something a little unusual today. I'd like each of us to say why we're here, either for professional reasons, or personal ones, if you feel comfortable talking about it. My secretary won't take notes, and if you don't want to speak, you don't have to. But I think it could be interesting for us,” and although she didn't say it, she knew it would form an instant bond between them. “I'm willing to go first, if you'd prefer it.” Everyone waited respectfully for her to speak, and she told them something none of them had known about her.