Линвуд Баркли - Elevator Pitch

Barbara thought a moment before saying, “No. It feels... it almost feels wrong. The building feels like it’s thumbing its nose at the laws of nature. It’s too incredible, too death defying. I wouldn’t mind a huge loft in SoHo, though.”

“Yeah, well, I think I could get used to—”

“Good evening!”

The voice was emanating from speakers built into the walls and ceiling.

“Welcome to the Top of the Park!”

Arla was looking, too. “Over there,” she said, pointing.

Standing on an elevated platform, with a night sky for a backdrop, was Rodney Coughlin. Six feet tall, broad-shouldered, chiseled jaw, eyebrows like mutant caterpillars, he was a commanding presence. He held a champagne glass at shoulder height as he smiled broadly at his guests, his teeth big and bright enough that light was bouncing off them. The mayor stood to his right, looking somewhat distracted.

Barbara and Arla threaded their way through the crowd so they could get a ringside view. Once in position, Barbara glanced around. She spotted Glover over by one of the elevators. Valerie was standing not far off. Barbara had lost sight of Vallins.

“Oh, what a glorious night this is!” Coughlin exclaimed, and the room erupted with applause. He grinned. “How do you folks like the view?”

Scattered laughter, more applause.

“Now, I know you’ve all just got here and you can’t stop yourselves from looking out the window and,” he chuckled, “looking down on the rest of New York. I need to warn you, there are going to be a few speeches, and I have a number of people to thank including — Mario! Where are you?”

Standing next to Barbara, a short, bushy-headed man with dark sunglasses the size of two coasters and wearing a bright, orange sport jacket waved his hand in the air.

“Mario Svengali!” Coughlin shouted, raising his glass even higher. “The most brilliant architect in the whole fucking universe. I’m going to be having a few words to say about him, and others, and my good friend the mayor, right here!”

He gestured to Headley beside him. “Thank you very much, Richard, for letting me use the elevators tonight.”

Headley blushed as nervous chuckles swept the room.

“Don’t worry!” Coughlin continued. “Tonight, the people who deserve our gratitude most of all are the good men and women of law enforcement — the NYPD, the FBI, you name it — who made an arrest today in connection with the horrible events of this week.”

Headley tried to interject, saying, “Actually, so far he’s only—”

Coughlin quickly cut him off. “I’ve got plenty to say tonight, and a lot of other people to thank. But we’ve also got some other people who want to say a few words.” He rolled his eyes. “Politicians, right? Well, so long as they’re saying wonderful things about me, I say give them all the time they want.”

A few more laughs.

“Most of those speeches are coming later. First, we want to have some fun. But before I command you all to eat, drink, and be merry, the mayor would like to say a few words. But you’re going to be brief, right, Richard?”

Coughlin quickly whispered something in the mayor’s ear. Barbara, who had always been pretty good at reading lips, was pretty sure he’d said, Don’t fuck this up .

The mayor, a strained grin on his face, stepped forward.

“I also just wanted to extend a welcome to everyone here on what is truly a historic night in the history of New York City as this astonishing building becomes part of the Manhattan skyline. My congratulations to everyone who played a role in making Top of the Park a reality.”

Arla leaned in close to her mother and said, “I think maybe I look a little bit like him. Around the eyes?”

As the mayor kept talking, Barbara replied quietly, “I don’t know. Possibly.”

The truth was, Barbara had always seen something of Headley in her daughter. Not just the eyes. The way her nose turned up slightly at the end, how she cocked her head when she was puzzling something out, the sharp turn in her jawbone just below the ear.

“As you all know,” Headley continued, “this has been a slightly stressful week for New Yorkers, so I would urge you to take full advantage of the open bar.” A forced chuckle. “I’ll be first in line.”

A few laughs and at least one “Hear, hear!”

“Okay!” the mayor said. “More speeches later! Let’s party! Let’s make this a night we’ll remember for the rest of our lives!”

Headley stepped off the platform, where he was met by Valerie, who was chatting to him about something. As they spoke, they both glanced, at different moments, at Glover, standing over by the elevators.

“What do you think?” Arla whispered. “Should I go up and talk to him? Just, like, introduce myself, and see what kind of reaction I get?”

Barbara was hesitant. “I’m not sure this is the right moment. This entire evening might not be the right moment.”

“I thought this was the plan. I talk to him tonight . I might not ever get this close to him again. I lost my job, remember?”

“I know, I know.”

Barbara was second-guessing her decision to give Arla that extra media pass. The last twenty-four hours had been so overwhelming, she thought. Perhaps her judgment was clouded by what had amounted to an emotional breakthrough with Arla. A breakthrough of honesty . Hours earlier, so grateful for this watershed moment in their relationship, Barbara would have been inclined to give Arla anything she asked for. A media pass to the biggest party in town? Sure, why not?

Now she wondered if it had been such a good idea.

Did Arla have a right to know who her father was? Of course. Was Arla perfectly justified in wanting to make a connection with him? No doubt about it.

But here? Now?

The mayor had broken away from Valerie and was heading their way.

“I’m going to do it,” Arla said.

But before Headley had gotten very far, an elderly woman wearing a floor-length gown and enough jewelry to open a Cartier store interceded.

“Richard!” she cried.

“Margaret!” he said, embracing her.

Barbara recognized her. Margaret Cambridge. Her name had come up when Barbara was doing her internet research.

“How do you like that view?” he asked her.

“It’s worth a million bucks,” she said. “Actually, more like a billion!”

They both laughed. The mayor gave her another hug, then moved on. Barbara could sense that Arla was ready to make a move. She placed a hand on her arm. “Wait, just wait a second. Maybe we should—”

“Mayor Headley?” Arla said.

Too late.

The mayor stopped, turned.

“Yes?” he said, looking at her.

Arla moved forward until there was barely a foot of space between the two of them. Seeing them that close together made Barbara light-headed.

No. Not here. Not now. Later. Somewhere private.

Arla extended a hand. The mayor took it, smiled, and said, “Nice to meet you.”

Then he noticed Barbara standing right behind her. She caught his eye and he said, “Ms. Matheson.”

Barbara smiled nervously. “Mayor.”

Arla said, “I wonder, would there be somewhere we could talk privately, for a couple of minutes?”

“Maybe if you talked to Valerie Langdon. She’s just over there? In the blue dress? You could tell her what this is about and she could see about setting something up.”

Arla’s face fell. “It’s not a political thing. It’s more a personal thing. You see, my name is Arla—”

She did not have a chance to finish her sentence. And even if she had, Headley would not have been able to hear it.

The explosion was far too deafening.