I Miranda

I Miranda

by Albert Zygier

Sandy, a good friend of mine that works as a producer in one of the networks that I am a frequent guest on, invited me to a July 4 party in East Hampton at the home of her aunt and uncle, a mogul in the real estate business. Everybody who is anybody will be there.

As it happened, I had just come back from an assignment in the Middle East, and after a few weeks traveling from one country to another I was worn out, so I accepted. Who knows, perhaps I might even find an interesting story just waiting for me there. 

My name is Miranda Hathaway, I’m a reporter, author, and contributor to many popular TV Networks. I’m about as tough and opinionated as anyone can be. I’m the youngest sibling out of six and also the only female. Growing up with five brothers made me tough and unlike Sandy’s family, mine comes from the blue-collar side but I don’t hold that against her.

I don’t dislike rich people, I want to be rich myself. Who doesn’t? It’s the way they became rich that bothers me a lot. I’m thirty-six years old and have been married once about ten, years ago. I try to forget that part. I was young and silly. Don’t think I hate men, I date on occasion when I have the time and there is somewhere interesting to go or see, but in general men are the least important part of my life. I’m just too busy.

There’s more of course but I don’t want to bore you with my accomplishments except for one more. I truly am a pretty good-looking woman and yes, its true that because of that, and I hate to admit it, I probably got ahead faster than many others, but I don’t want anyone ever to call me out on that. One way or the other I would have wound up on top!

So, the Friday before, I stayed at Sandy’s apartment, for she had a car, and lived in Queens, closer toward the Hamptons. We had fun staying up late and drinking wine while watching one of our favorite movies on TV. 

Casablanca.

We’ve seen this movie so many times we talked along with the characters from memory. How can anyone forget, “Play it again Sam…”

Though we were invited to stay at her relatives huge mansion, we wanted to be independent and so rented a room in downtown South Hampton where we could come and go and not have to answer to anyone. As it happened, Sandy’s parents also had a small house there, but we didn't want to stay with them either. We were grown-ups and giggled a lot.

We arrived early to miss that Hamptons traffic, and checked into our room, unpacked and went shopping. We certainly didn’t bring some old beach clothes with us, this was, after all, a ritzy party so after a bowl of cereal and a cup of decaf, off we went to Main Street and check out their boutiques. Well, if you can’t get some nice vacation outfits there, where can you?

I got myself a little champaign colored, Vera Wang dress that is just barely legal, even in South Hampton, and Sandy followed me with a yellow pantsuit. It would be a “visually impaired” person that wouldn’t give us a second look.

We arrived a bit late, partly because it took us a while to shower, makeup and dress and partly because it was the thing to do.

It wasn’t too large a party, maybe forty-fifty people, the gliterary (?) of the summer social season, artists, writers, bankers, ambulance chasers, real east agents, etc. I knew many of them by name. Many I knew didn’t like me because of my exposés, but they were polite, at least to my face, including her aunt and uncle. Her uncle I really plastered a few years ago about his real estate dealings. I had no idea he was her uncle or I wouldn’t have come but now that I was there I wasn’t going to run and miss all the fun. I didn’t think Sandy even knew about my articles, I met her afterward and didn’t connect that she was related to him.

Their home would match anything the old robber barons had in Newport, Rhode Island. Well, what would you expects from a real estate mogul?

We said hello to Sandy’s parents. Nice people. Her father and mother, both lawyers working in a sidewalk office helping the poor. They seemed a bit out of place here. It was her mother’s sister that made it big marrying her uncle.

Anyway, I came to enjoy myself and maybe pick up something newsworthy along the way. It’s true, I take a more liberal point of view of politics and business, but not enough to lean too far to the left. Like Socrates, I was the gadfly of the mighty and powerful.

Anyway, it was a beautiful sunny day. A few cumulus clouds floating lazily under an azure sky. Contrails from huge planes on the way to Europe from JFK pointed eastward, like some giant white plumes of smoke. 

Crystal glasses filled with French wine and champagne were passed around like water. Martinis and gin and tonic floated on waiters’ trays like well-drilled military teams. Hors d’oeuvre like you would only see at upper-class social affairs brought by young waitresses to the crowed that ate them up as if they hadn’t been fed since last Sunday. They tasted as delicious as they looked. I helped my self to as many as fit on my napkin. No fool, I.

Peace was in the air. 

Sandy left me for a while to be with her parents, so I went about greeting people that still liked me, there were a few. Even the ones that didn’t, pretended they did. I was a star after all. Well, I respected that. I don’t mind people that stand up for themselves no matter how wrong they are.

I mean, I didn’t arbitrarily insult them, I just pointed out what I thought were their deficiencies, like overcharging rents from the working classes.

All in all, I was enjoying myself. I saw men, and women give me look overs in my little dress. It helps to be well dressed and hold yourself up as if you were important as long as you don’t make an ass of yourself. Be kind to dogs and children and the impecunious, (look that up), was my motto.

It was then that I saw him. A tall man, probably six feet or so. Well-dressed in a pale blue Italian suit with an open collar and a blue ascot around his neck. He held a glass with a clear liquid that could begin or water or even vodka but I didn’t see him drink anything in the past few minuted that I observed him.

He was talking to two men, one a senator from New York, the other a publisher I knew quite well. I stood about ten feet away and occasionally I saw that man looking my way and give me that smoky smile. I am not that kind of woman that is fascinated only by a handsome face, so I turned a bit to the right and just looked at him from the reflection on my glass. I didn’t want to be obvious.

I was surprised that I didn’t think I ever met him though for some reason I thought that I have seen him before somewhere. It certainly couldn’t have been recently for a face like that I don’t think I would have forgotten. Maybe he had some small role in a film or video. Anyway, what did I care? 

I finally turned to leave when as I turned, there he was standing right in my way.

He quickly apologized for startling me.

“I’m terribly sorry,” he said, “but I thought I recognized you. We actually never met in person but I know who you are. Miranda Hathaway. Right?”

Well, thought I, who wouldn’t recognize Miranda Hathaway?

He then introduced himself as Richard Porter, which at first didn’t strike me at all. But as long as he introduced himself I might as well be polite.

“So, nice to meet you, Mr Richard Porter.” Said I, what else would I do? And then it hit me, Richard Porter once wrote me a scalding letter in answer to one of my major articles on Defense Department spending. He took me point by point and insinuated I had no idea what I was talking about and that I either do my research or perhaps devote my writing to fairy tales for children.

It was the most scathing and well-written letter I have ever received from a reader. I didn’t answer off course because I had no real comeback then, so I just filed it and then forgot about it. That was, what? A few years ago?

“Well, what are you two up to?” Sandy’s voice suddenly popped in. “So you’ve met Richard, I see.” She added. “Richard and I actually slept together once…,” she stopped that with a pregnant pause, “when we were, what, four years old?” Her eyes twinkled as she said that. “We’re distant cousins that used to be close but his was from a military family, so they never stayed in one place for long. We haven’t seen each other in quite a while. Right, Richy?” This she asked Richard as he still stared at me. “Isn’t he one handsome man? If we weren’t related I wouldn’t let any other woman touch him.”

It was obvious they were close at some point in time or, or she wouldn’t be so familiar with him and then Richard bent down, as he was at least a head taller and kissed Sandy on her cheek while starring again, straight at me.

Well, if he wants to make me jealous he is barking up the wrong tree.

“Oh, I see my mother calling me again. Excuse me…” Sandy said as she quickly turned and ran away leaving me with her dear ol’ cousin.

I turned and followed her with my eyes and didn’t see a hair of her mother. Some friend she turned out to be. Did she think to set me up with this handsome man? Good luck!

“Why don’t we have a drink” Mr cousin said to me.

I think my last drink was spiked because I answered, sure, instead of buzz off.

A waiter passed, and he grabbed two glasses of something and prod me away from the crowd.

“I wrote you a comment on an article you wrote some years ago and I never heard from you since. It was a bit harsh but you really should have done your research before you wrote it.”

“Really,” Said I rather stiffly.

“Really.” He mimicked. “You should have gotten the figures from the DOD. By the way, where did you get them? Some opposition congressman I bet.”

“And where do you get your figures? You have an in from some congressional committee?” I retorted.

He ignored me and went to complain about some other of my articles. 

“You know, you’re a bitchy person. All you do is complain about everything. You see no light anywhere. We shouldn’t be doing this. We shouldn’t be doing that. So what should we be doing? You never give us the benefit of your great expertise. You think the world should be holding hands and sing Kumbaya and then all will be well. Things just don’t work that way. There was strife since we started to walk on two feet and there always will be…”

“OK, I had enough of your bitching about my bitching. Who the hell are you anyway? All I know about you is that you slept with my friend when you both were four years old. This doesn’t give you permission to…” And then I just had to laugh. Why am I arguing with a man I just met. What do I care what he thinks anyway?

I said goodbye or something like that and started to walk away. “I don’t need this…”

“Oh”, he said, “you can dish it out, but you can’t take it?”

OK, that got my hackles up. “Do you work for the government or something? Because I know a lot of people who work for the government and…”

“…and what? You’ll get me fired? You know that most people are afraid of you. Most of the people at this gathering are afraid of you. Afraid that you’ll write something about them that will get them in hot water…”

“They have nothing to fear if they are honest with…”

“Oh…, so you are the arbiter of honesty. Your columns are the epitome of truth in this world. You are the messenger from…”

I was thinking of slapping him right there and then, but I stopped myself just in time.

“I guess no one has ever spoken to you like that. Have they?”

“Who are you? Who are you really, some reporter out of the blue? I have never heard of you before. Did someone send you to harass me?”

Honestly, I was a bit shaken. At first, I thought he was going to give me some line? So how did we get to this? Sure, I gave these people a hard time but I did it for a good cause. I want to expose them for what they are… 

I was going to slap him again as I saw he was smiling that devilish smile of his.

“What? Really, who are you? Mr smarty pants? Have I been set up for a candid camera or something? Are you setting me up for a prank? It certainly isn’t April Fools’ Day yet.”

“You are really beautiful when you’re angry…” He started to say and at that comment, I did raise my hand to slap him. No one calls me beautiful and gets away with that. But Mister Porter reacted like a flash of lightning and caught my hand a few inches from his face.

He let it go and stepped back. “I’m sorry, I should not have said that. You are definitely not beautiful. In fact, far from it and I apologize.”

There was an old tree a few feet away, and he guided me behind it. At first, I thought he was going to hit me but then his eyes turned to mush.

“I admit, at first I was angry when I saw you. That article was not called for the way you wrote it. Let me finish. I just want to know, did you research it yourself or did you get this from some member of congress?”

I didn’t answer at first…

“It’s a simple question”, he said.

It was a simple question without a simple answer. It was also many years ago. But I did remember. It was Congressman Norman Sullivan that came to me with a large envelope and asked me to look it over and see if there was a story to it. With what I had there, it certainly was. Never in my thoughts did I think a congressman would put something over me. If, he actually did.

”I will review the story when I get back. Mr. Porter. How can I reach you?”

“Alright Ms. Hathaway, I will take your word for it.” He handed me a card which I put away in my little cocktail bag.

I haven’t been so intimidated by anyone since a foreign correspondent had me trapped in an elevator at my first job.

After this encounter, I wasn’t in the mood to stay at the party anymore. I saw Porter say goodbye to Sandy’s parents and leave. I wonder if Porter knew I was coming and set me up. I’ll have a little talk later with Sandy at the hotel.

When I found her, I told her I drank a bit too much and had a headache and was leaving, but she could stay as long as she wanted. The hotel wasn’t too far away. I got to Main Street and found a coffee shop. I was overdressed for sure but I didn’t care. Just let anyone start with me. Except for a couple of hors d’oeuvres, I haven’t eaten anything since the cornflakes this morning, so I asked for an egg and cheese omelet and a cup of decaf when I heard a voice behind me.

“I hope you’re not following me, Ms Hathaway?”

The line that struck me immediately was from Casablanca where Rick tells Sam, “Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world…”

“Amazing that we should meet like that by chance and so soon… How did you find me?”

I had to take a big breath because I didn’t know what to answer. He wouldn’t believe me anyway. “I followed your footprints.” What else could I say?

We had a divider between us, so he asked if I would join him as his food was already on his table. I picked up my coffee cup and sat across from him and feeling like a fool. He smiled at me and I smiled at him till the waitress came with my eggs.

“So, shall we call a truce while we eat?”

“We can if you tell me honestly our little meeting wasn’t a setup.”

“Actually, it wasn’t. I was here in South Hampton to rest up. I had just come back from a long tour outside the country and some friends invited me over for a week of sun and sand. Now that might sound strange as I just left a country full of sun and sand, but here at least no one was shooting at me. In any case, I met Sandy’s parents, which by the way I haven’t seen in at least ten-fifteen years, in a supermarket, and they invited me to the party.

Now, I wouldn’t have known you if we bumped each other in a dark alley at midnight but they pointed you out to me at the party by name as Sandy’s friend. I have totally forgotten about that article as I had more important things on my mind the past few years, but then it hit me that you were the culprit that I was so pissed off at.

Before that, though I usually don’t do that, speaking to strange women I was not introduced to and you were so good looking in that cute little dress, ugh, I’m terribly sorry, I meant that you were so terribly looking in that ugly outfit..”

How could you help to not at least smile…

“So, I said to myself, Rich, don’t blow it. Ask her out and if you don’t like her give her the business about that article later, but I did blow it. Didn’t I? How are your eggs?”

“You wanted to ask me out?” Yes, I asked that. He looked like a dream. “By the way, who are you really?”

Richard had ordered pancakes and now he sliced a big piece off and smudged it in enough syrup to worry his doctor. “I guess you didn’t look at my card.”

I hadn’t of course, so I said. “Do you want to tell me or do I need to stop eating and dig it out of my bag?”

“I am Lieutenant General Richard Porter, that’s a three-star general which I’m sure you know. I commanded forces in a little mountain resort called Afghanistan, and I am back here for a tour in the Pentagon as, well, I shouldn’t tell you, you might print it all over town.”

“A three-star general you say?” I asked.

“Yes., three shiny little stars on my shoulders. Have you ever met a three-star general in person?”

“Only once, but he was an old decrepit little man.”

“You know, you really are an even more beautiful woman when you’re sarcastic.”

I kicked him under the table and thought of another line from Casablanca.

“Louie, I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.”