The Last Good Night by Emily Listfield Page A

intonations, delivery, until it seemed as if I had been born there. I remembered the loneliness. But it wasn’t something I was going to describe to a stranger with a microphone.
    I saw her glance down surreptitiously to make sure her tape recorder was still going before she looked back to me. “Were you always interested in the news?” she asked. “What role do you think celebrity plays in television journalism? What are the plans for In Step ?” She continued on, her eyes never wavering from my face. I tried to stay as still as possible, not to betray any discomfort or nervousness, not to betray anything at all.
    I only eased when I heard the front door open and Dora come in with Sophie from a trip to the supermarket. “Excuse me,” I said, and went to greet them. Sophie was so bundled up she looked like the Michelin tire guy. Dora is a firm believer in the benefits of fresh air and takes Sophie out on the most inclementof days, but she hedges her bets by insisting on overdressing her. When I picked Sophie up and rubbed her upturned nose with mine, her arms and legs remained immobile, sticking straight out.
    â€œI guess we’re done for now,” Alexandra said when I returned to the living room. I noticed that she had been writing in her pad while I was gone. “I’ll turn you over to Mark.”
    She sat in the corner, watching intently while I posed on the couch, holding my chin slightly up and to the left, my eyes wide, as I’d learned worked best over the years. I had refused the magazine’s offer of a hair and makeup team, as well as their suggestions about clothing. Though a glamorous and provocative layout may sell copies for them, it would do nothing to help me be taken seriously as a journalist.
    â€œHow about one with Sophie?” Alexandra asked. It made me nervous how easily she used my daughter’s name, as if she knew her.
    â€œNo,” I answered quickly. David and I had agreed that there should be no pictures of Sophie in newspapers or magazines. It was unfair at best, dangerous at worst.
    â€œWhy don’t I just take a few for you,” Mark asked in his mellifluous accent, “and send you the best ones as a gift?”
    And I have to admit I agreed. Who doesn’t want a record of her child’s beauty?
    I balanced Sophie on my lap, bending my head to hers, smiling genuinely for the first time as I fingered the downy soft tip of her ear. Her weight and her heat were an anchor to me as Mark continued to snap away.
    When they were done, I walked them to the door and we shook hands.
    Alexandra smiled. “We’re off to a good start. Of course, I’d like to ask you follow-up questions after I gather some background information. You know how it is.”
    Unfortunately, I did.
    â€œOh, by the way,” Alexandra said as she turned to leave. “I hear you’re interviewing the secretary of state.”
    I tried not to register my surprise. No one had told me that. “Yes.”
    â€œBe careful. Don’t let his stiff upper-class act fool you. He may know his way around a treaty, and frankly even that’s a matter of opinion, but he’s nothing but an old lecher at heart. He still thinks grabbing anything in a skirt is his droit du seigneur. I’d sit as far away as possible.”
    I thanked her for her advice and closed the door behind her.
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    A S SOON AS I got to the office, Carla raised one eyebrow to note my lateness.
    â€œI had an interview to do. Susan set it up,” I said.
    Carla smiled slightly. “You don’t have to explain yourself to me.”
    I nodded, embarrassed. “Old habit,” I said.
    She looked at me impassively. “Berkman’s waiting for you in his office.”
    â€œWhat’s it about?”
    â€œThe day he tells me what anything is about is the day I get stock options in the company. Quinn is already in there.”
    â€œAll right.