Journey

“Get your things, we're leaving.” He didn't even bother to acknowledge Greg. Jack was satisfied with Greg's ratings, but he had never liked him, and never bothered to pretend he did. But he spoke to Maddy now like a servant, just someone to be ordered around and carry out his orders. She picked up her handbag and walked out of the office without saying a word. She wasn't sure how, but she knew that after today things would be different between them. They each felt betrayed by the other.

Jack followed her to the elevator, and they rode downstairs in silence, and it was only once they were in the car that he spoke to her again. “You came damn near close to ending your career today. I hope you know that.”

“You and your friends killed four hundred and twelve people. I can't even imagine how that must feel. Compared to that, my career doesn't mean much.”

“I'm glad you think so. You were playing with fire out there. You were told to only read your approved copy.”

“I thought the death of more than four hundred people merited some small comment. I didn't say anything you could object to.”

They sat in silence again until they got home, and then he looked at her with contempt, as though to remind her that she was unimportant. “Pack your bags, Mad. We're leaving tomorrow.”

“For where?” she said without interest.

“Europe.” As usual, he offered no details, and hadn't asked her.

“I'm not going,” she said firmly, determined this time to fight him.

“I didn't ask you. I told you. You're off the air for two weeks, I want you to cool off and remember what the ground rules are before you go back on the show again. Elizabeth Watts is covering for you. She can do it permanently, if you'd prefer it.” He wasn't pulling any punches. Elizabeth Watts was the anchorwoman whose place Maddy had taken when she got there. She still covered for Maddy during vacations. It was in her contract, although she was still bitter about having been unseated by Maddy.

“I don't really care at this point, Jack,” Maddy said coolly, “if you want to fire me, go ahead.” Her words were brave, although she felt a tremor of terror as she watched him. In some ways, although he had never been physically violent with her, he had always scared her. The power he exuded from every pore was not only directed at others, but at her as well.

“If I fire you, you'll be washing dishes somewhere. You'd better think of that before you shoot your mouth off. And yes, you are going with me. We're going to the South of France, Paris, and London. And if you don't pack your things, I will. I want you out of the country. You're not giving comments, interviews, or editorials of any kind. You are now officially on vacation.”

“Was that the President's idea, or yours?”

“Mine. I run the show here. You work for me. You're married to me. I own you,” he said with a force that took her breath away as she listened to him.

“You don't own me, Jack. I may work for you, and I'm married to you, but you don't own me.” She said it softly, and firmly, but she looked frightened. Ever since her childhood, she had hated confrontation and conflict.

“Am I packing or are you?” he asked, without further comment.

She hesitated for a long moment, and then walked through their bedroom to her dressing room, and took out a suitcase. There were tears in her eyes when she did it, and she was crying openly as she tossed bathing suits and shorts and T-shirts and shoes into the suitcase. All she could think as she did it was that things never changed much. Bobby Joe may have pushed her down the stairs, but Jack had done a good job of it today, without ever touching her, or barely. What was it about men like them that made them think they owned you? Was it the men she chose, or did she ask for it? It hadn't quite come clear to her, as she folded four linen dresses and put three pairs of high heels into the suitcase. Twenty minutes later, she was finished and went to take a shower. Jack was in his bathroom packing.

“What time are we leaving tomorrow?” she asked when she saw him again in their bedroom.

“We leave here at seven o'clock in the morning. We're flying to Paris.” It was all she knew about the trip, but she really didn't care now. He had made his point, and she had bought into it. For all her brave words, she had proved to both of them that he owned her.

“I guess there's one advantage to having your own plane,” she said as she climbed into bed with him.

“What's that?” he asked, thinking she was making idle conversation.

“At least we know there won't be a bomb on it. That's a definite plus,” she said, and turned her back to him as she got into bed beside him. He didn't answer her as he turned off the light, and for once, he didn't touch her.

Chapter 7