Gia stepped out of Macy’s with a loaded shopping bag in each hand and headed for the curb to look for a cab. She’d picked up some good bargains that Vicky could wear back to school next month.
She wondered if the driver on the way home would give her the same strange look as the one who’d brought her down here. Probably. She couldn’t blame them: Women who lived on Sutton Square did not go to Macy’s for a Red Tag sale.
Probably thinks I’m a live-in nanny, she thought.
My address may be one of the best in the city, guys, but I’m living on the income of a freelance commercial artist. I have an active little girl who wears out what she doesn’t outgrow. So when Macy’s advertises a sale, I go.
As she moved toward the curb she noticed a black woman with a microphone; a burly fellow stood beside her, peering through the lens of the camera on his shoulder. The woman looked familiar but she was oddly dressed—the blouse and jacket on her upper half did not go with the denim shorts on her lower half. Herald Square was jammed and the crowd seemed even thicker around this woman.
Then Gia recognized her as one of the on-the-scene reporters
from a local TV station—channel two or four, she couldn’t remember which. The woman spotted Gia and angled her way with the cameraman in tow.
“Excuse me,” she said, thrusting the microphone ahead of her. “I’m Philippa Villa, News Center Four. Care to answer the Question of the Day?”
“Depends on what it is,” Gia said, still edging toward the curb.
“You heard about the kidnapping and return of little Duc Ngo?”
“Of course.”
“Okay.” Ms. Villa pushed the microphone closer. “The Question of the Day is: Should child molesters get the death penalty?”
Gia remembered how she’d felt this morning, imagining what it would have been like if Vicky had been abducted. Or if someone ever molested the baby growing inside her …
“You mean after they’ve been castrated?” she said.
The woman blinked as a couple of onlookers laughed. “We’re just talking about the death penalty. Yes or no?”
“No,” Gia said through her rising anger and revulsion. “Death’s too good for anyone who’d hurt a child. The guy who snatched that little boy should be castrated. And after that he should have his hands cut off so he can never touch another child, and then his legs cut off so he can never stalk another child, and then his tongue ripped out so he can never coax another kid into his car, and his eyes put out so that he can never even look at a child again. I’d leave him his nose so he can breathe in the stink of his rotten body.”
The surrounding gaggle cheered.
Did I just say that? Gia thought. I’ve been hanging around Jack too long.
“You seem to have a lot of support,” Ms. Villa said, glancing around at the crowd. “We might want to air your comments on the news tonight.” She smiled. “The late news. We’ll need you to sign a release to—”
Gia shook her head. “No thanks.”
She didn’t want to be on TV. She just wanted to get home. She turned as a cab nosed in toward the curb to drop off a passenger.
“Can I at least have your name?” Ms. Villa said as she and the cameraman followed Gia to the cab.
“No,” Gia said over her shoulder.
She slid into the rear of the cab as soon as it was empty. She closed the door and told him to head uptown. She didn’t look back as the cab pulled away.
What had possessed her to say something like that? On camera, no less. She’d been telling the truth—those had been her exact feelings at the moment—but they were nobody else’s business. She certainly didn’t want her face on the tube. If she had fifteen minutes of fame coming, she wanted it through her paintings, not from flapping her gums on local TV.