14
Hayley Jovanka surveyed Joan’s home, her brow knit in consternation. “Where are the knickknacks?” she asked, looking around. “Where are the photos?”
“What you see is what I have,” Joan replied shortly, watching strangers invade her home.
“Joan,” Hayley said, at a loss as she toured the space. “This isn’t a home. This is like something out of American Psycho.” She turned to face her. “We need to humanize you. We need to make you likeable, relatable.” She continued to examine the space. “Do you have any pets?”
“I had a goldfish.”
“A goldfish?” Hayley repeated. “It’s something, at least. Where is it?”
“It died.”
Hayley rolled her eyes. “Of course it did. Well… we’ll figure out the personal stuff in a minute. First, I think we should do the interview in here,” she pointed to the dining room, “but without the table. We’ll move in the chair from the other room and set it up in front of the sideboard. You’ll look relaxed, cozy.”
“You’ll move…” Joan turned away, focusing on maintaining control. Not only were there strangers in her house, they were going to move things. They were going to touch her furniture, leave marks everywhere, move things where they didn’t belong…
“Mmm,” Hayley replied absently, framing the shot in her mind. “What about your bedroom, Joan? Do you have any photos in your bedroom?”
Joan’s eye twitched.
Focus.
“Make do with what you see, Jovanka,” she replied curtly. “Let’s get this over with.”
***
Derek Channing lay propped up in bed, naked, Rachel Sanger snuggled against his side. He absently stroked her hair as they watched the news together. “Can you believe this dickhead?” he asked, gesturing at the politician now speaking. “I could do it better than that!”
Rachel patted his chest. “I’m sure you could,” she replied reassuringly.
“Damn right,” he muttered. He yawned as the words “tomorrow: exclusive interview” flashed across the screen.
Joan Ferguson’s face suddenly appeared in high definition glory.
“What the fuck?” he yelped.
***
Vera and Jake sat together on the couch, an open bottle of wine discarded on the table in front of them. Vera cuddled into Jake, pressing her cheek against his chest as his arm gently held her shoulders. She breathed in deeply, doing her best to let all thoughts of Joan, of Smith, of everything that had happened drift away…
“Hey—hey!” Jake exclaimed. “Joan!”
Vera frowned into his stomach. Joan? What was he talking about?
“Vera, look! She’s on TV!”
Vera abruptly lifted her head. What?
“And our own Hayley Jovanka will bring you an exclusive interview,” the anchor announced, “with Wentworth’s infamous ex-Governor…”
***
“…Joan Ferguson. She was acquitted of all charges today. What will she do next?”
That’s the question, Maxine thought, not really caring. She was watching television only because she couldn’t sleep, and there was nothing better to do.
She sighed, lifting her hand to gently feel her scalp, where her hair used to be.
What was the point of it all?
She closed her eyes against the blue light of the screen.
Bea was dead.
She’d be dead soon, too.
What was the point?
***
Derek stood directly in front of the television. Fists clenched, genitals limp, he glared at the screen.
The anchorperson chirped. “Here’s a short clip of what you’ll see tomorrow night on Ten Eyewitness News!”
The screen showed Hayley Jovanka leaning forward, concern emanating from her posture. “Are you saying Governor Bennett is inept?” she asked.
A close-up of Joan’s face once again filled the screen. “Of course not,” Joan smiled. “Anything but. Vera Bennett is a consummate professional. I trained her myself.”
“But,” Hayley said, leaning further, “there’s something… She’s been promoted and demoted from that position before…”
Joan held up her hands. “I’m simply saying that there are… conditions… which make her governorship untenable…”
***
Vera’s breath came in shallow, rushed gasps.
She stared with horror at the screen. Did Joan—did Joan just—
“Fuck, did Joan just out your Hep C, Vera?” Jake exclaimed.
She gasped, gulping in air, but she couldn’t seem to get enough. “I can’t—I can’t breath! I can’t breathe!” she cried, shaking, sliding to the floor.
Jake roughly pushed the coffee table out of the way, spilling the bottle of wine. Ignoring it, he grasped Vera’s shoulders. “Hold your breath,” he told her urgently. “Hold it!”
Vera shook her head vigorously. “Can’t breathe—”
“Your body has too much oxygen,” Jake informed her urgently. “You’re having a panic attack. Hold your breath!”
Still Vera refused, shaking, looking around desperately.
Jake pulled her to him, enveloping her in his lap. He gently but firmly covered her mouth and nose.
She tried to yell, pushing against him, but he held firm.
After ten seconds, he let go of her nose. She inhaled sharply before he covered it again.
Vera stopped struggling.
He repeated blocking and unblocking her air flow until her breathing returned to normal.
Vera lay against him, exhausted. “Never do that again,” she told him angrily. “Never.”
“Okay,” he shrugged. “But it worked.”
Vera closed her eyes.
Jake stared back at the screen. Joan had balls. He had to give her that. A weather map now appeared. “Well,” he said, “I guess we’ll just have to tune in tomorrow.”
***
“You bitch!” Derek yelled into the phone. “You think this will help you? You think you’re going to get your job back after a stunt like that?”
Joan lovingly tapped the “end call” button.
She smiled.
***
Will Jackson lay sprawled on a couch, oblivious to the blaring of the television. The little mirror dropped from his hand, landing next to the now-empty bag of heroin.