Page 76 of The Bet
Chapter 22
There was hope and a sense of solidarity in the air, on this surprisingly dry, yet chilly November morning.
Izzy was on a high that came from thousands of women all marching together, and she had never experienced anything like it before.
There was a harmony about the crowd which organizers had estimated to be about 100,000 strong. They had started off on the corner of Columbus Avenue and 71st Street, moving slowly down Central Park West and then turning into Columbus Circle before heading towards Bryant Park.
It was a route she knew well.
They marched with a huge group of students from the college, and Izzy hoped something like this was a sign to the Shoemoneys of this world that it wasn’t acceptable to prey on women. That it wasn’t acceptable to touch and grope, in the workplace, in schools, and in gymnasiums, in swim squads, or behind the scenes at movie castings and fashion shows, thinking it was normal.
Because it wasn’t, and had never been, and somewhere along the line, a whole generation of men had grown up thinking it was, and a generation of women had grown up believing they were alone.
Stories such as this had been crawling out of the woodwork for months, and had given her strength, in light of what had happened to her. It gave her comfort, and made her stand straighter, to know that she was not alone.
She and Cara marched together, in unison, the collective energy building, the vibe in the air permeating each and every cell in her body.
They listened to speeches along the way, where women dreamt of a world where equal pay was possible, and not just a glass ceiling to aim for, a world in which harassment in the workplace, the smutty jokes and physical references, were a punishable offense, not just the stuff of locker room high fives, or boardroom handshakes.
For six hours they had walked and the procession had been peaceful, and friendly. It was easy to make friends surrounded by people who all shared the same values, dreamed the same dream and hoped for the same future.
It was only in the last hour of what should have been the end of a peaceful demonstration, that things turned ugly. She heard the commotion up ahead, and then what sounded like crackers going off. Women’s screams filled the air as people panicked and ran.
Izzy grabbed Cara’s arm and ran, as quickly as she could, fearful of being trampled on, as the crackers—someone shouted that they were gunshots—went off close by.
But just as they were about to push their way out of the thick crowd, Cara tripped and fell. “Get up!” Izzy screamed.
“I can’t!” Cara’s ghostly pale face stared up at her as she lay crumpled in a heap on the ground. “I can’t move my foot,” she groaned, her face twisting in pain.
“Get up,” Izzy urged. Covering her face, as people jostled and shoved past her and Cara. They had to get away before they were trampled. She put her arm around Cara’s neck then yanked her to standing. Supporting her body as best as she could, they limped to an alleyway, away from the crowd.
They cowered for what seemed like ages.
“Your face is all scratched,” Cara told her.
“I’m fine.” She stared down at Cara’s foot. “We need to get back.” But the sound of sirens suddenly filled the air and, in the next moment, police officers spilled out onto the streets like ants.
It was later, when they had been to the hospital and then returned home to watch it all on TV, that they learned how lucky they had been that Cara had only suffered a bad ankle sprain, and Izzy’s face had suffered a few cuts and grazes.
They’d gotten off relatively unscathed.
They had discovered, to their horror, that an angry ex-husband had come looking for his wife with a gun. He’d shot her, and left her in a critical condition in the ICU. A hater with so much hate that he’d wanted to put a bullet through the mother of his children.
~ ~ ~
He hadn’t bothered to call because he’d bought the damn thing and now he just wanted her to have it. He needed to focus on his proposal for Hennessy, not worry about fucking spreadsheets being in the wrong format.
This would fix that problem.
It had better do, or else …
He knocked a few times. Would have been here yesterday, but the goddamn streets were rammed. There had been some sort of lesbian demonstration taking place in the streets, and it had been impossible to get anywhere.
Laronde opened the door and looked slightly uneasy. “Oh,” she said, when she saw him. It wasn’t the usual response he was accustomed to—even if he turned up unannounced at a girl’s place, but he’d always known that Laronde was never going to break out into a flirtatious smile at the sight of him.
“Nice to see you, too,” he said, his tone blatantly sarcastic. It was the first time he’d seen her since that interview in the park a few weeks ago. He’d been so busy, he hadn’t had time to think about the bet.
“For you,” he said, handing over the thin white box.
