Part 36 (1/2)
”Hey,” I said, ”it keeps me on the front page.”
”Well, that's something, I guess.”
”It is.”
”Well ... uh, I've got something to tell you.”
”Yes?”
”I've been seeing somebody.”
Seeing somebody? Must mean she finally went to a psychiatrist. To be this nice to me, she had to be on some heavy meds.
”Who?” I asked.
”His name is Doug, and he's really sweet. Treats me like a queen.”
Oh. ”How nice for you.”
”He's an older guy, owns his own construction business.”
”I see.”
”Are you okay with this? I was afraid you might take it hard.”
”I'm happy for you, Dorcas.”
”You are?”
”Yeah, sure.”
”Mulligan?”
”What?”
”He's asked me to marry him.”
”Congratulations.”
”Doug's doing real well, so I won't be needing alimony after all.”
”That's good to hear.”
”So I was kind of hoping you'd be willing to expedite the divorce.”
”Sure thing.”
”You can have the house if you want it.”
”I don't,” I said. ”I wouldn't be able to make the payments.”
”You could sell it.”
”The housing market has collapsed, Dorcas. Selling it could take a long time, and it probably would go for less than we owe on it.”
”You want me to keep it, then?”
”Yes, I do.”
”Okay. I'll have my lawyer draw up the papers.”
”Good.”
”You think you could sign them right away? We want to get married next month.”
”I can do that.”
”Thank you.”
”You bet.”
”You're sure you're okay with this?”
”I'll survive.”
”Well, okay, then. Good-bye.”
”Good-bye, Dorcas.”
As I clicked off, I had the fleeting thought that I should warn poor deluded Doug; but I stifled it. I pulled back onto the road, cranked the prost.i.tution playlist up loud, and sang along with the music. At one point I think I may have shouted, ”Yippie!” But as I crossed the bridge over the Providence River, I felt suddenly deflated.
The witch was getting married again. How come I didn't have somebody?
50.
Lomax stripped Mason's story across page one on Sunday, and it caused an immediate sensation. Preachers denounced the governor and the state legislature from the pulpit. The governor, in turn, denounced the paper for spreading the lie that he'd taken money from a p.o.r.nographer-and then promised to return it. The Sword of G.o.d, a.s.sault rifles at port arms, picketed the governor's McMansion in Warwick, chanting, ”Little Rhody is not for sale”-a slogan that couldn't have been more inaccurate. Fiona announced a criminal investigation and demanded immediate pa.s.sage of her bill outlawing prost.i.tution. All the national TV networks trumpeted the story. CNN embellished its coverage with a hastily prepared feature on Rhode Island corruption through the ages, complete with video of a dozen mayors, judges, and state legislators being led away in handcuffs. FOX News dressed up its report with spy camera video of half-naked hookers cavorting inside the Tongue and Groove. And a good time was had by all.
On Tuesday, the judiciary committees sent Fiona's bill to the floors of the house and senate. Wednesday morning, the house pa.s.sed it by a vote of 722 with one abstention, and that afternoon, the senate approved it by a vote of 380. Thursday morning, the governor signed it into law. And that evening, Fiona went on television to crow that ”the shameful era of legalized prost.i.tution in Rhode Island is over” and to hint that she was considering a run for governor. I had to squint to be sure, but I think she was wearing makeup.
Next morning, the Dispatch's editors huddled to discuss whether the newspaper should continue to refer to Fiona as ”Attila the Nun.” Lomax was in favor, calling the appellation colorful and instantly recognizable. The fuddy-duddy copydesk chief was opposed, saying it was now technically inaccurate. As the debate heated up, I could hear their raised voices through the closed conference room door.
The new law made prost.i.tution a misdemeanor punishable by six months in prison, a one-thousand-dollar fine, or both, and it applied equally to hookers and their Johns. The strip clubs were given just a week to clean up their act, and Mayor Carroza vowed that the Providence Police Department would be vigilant in enforcing it. So the night the law went live, I decided to check it out.
There were only a dozen cars in the parking lot at the Tongue and Groove. Inside, I found Joseph DeLucca chugging a beer at the bar. He wiped the foam from his upper lip with the tail of his Hawaiian s.h.i.+rt as I sat beside him.
”What are you doing here?” I asked. ”I thought you got promoted.”