The Dollhouse Read Online Free PDF Page A

talked about running for mayor down the road, when he had more political capital and experience behind him. But that was supposed to happen far in the future. If Griff ran and won in the next election, she’d be the first lady of New York City in less than two years. The idea rattled her. The scrutiny would be horrible, Page Six of the
New York Post
every day. “Wow. That’s a huge leap.”
    Griff gave a shy smile. “He thinks I have a strong chance, that people are looking for a fresh candidate—one who isn’t imbedded in the system.”
    Whatever happened, they’d manage. She threw her arms around his neck and kissed him. She loved the way he seemed surprised by his success, and he truly was. Just a good boy from upstate who happened to be brilliant at his job.
    â€œProbably best not to think about it too much yet.” Griff dismissed the idea with a wave of his hand. “There’s so much to accomplish before then.”
    â€œOf course.”
    His eyes were more sunken than usual, and she wondered if he might be coming down with something. She curled her legs under her and snuggled in for closer inspection. Usually when they met up in the evening, she liked to entertain him with the latest exploits of her ridiculous twentysomething boss. When Rose’s job at the network had ended in a spectacular flameout, Griff had encouraged her to take a pay cut and work where she could write about culture and the arts, her first loves. She took a job at WordMerge, a media start-up with an admittedly terrible name, one that tripped on the tongue when uttered aloud.
    â€œToday, Tyler asked if I’d cover some new strip club in Brooklyn that offers farm-to-table food and microbrewed beer. It’s called Au Naturel. Can you believe it?”
    Griff nodded. “Very hip. Are you going to do it?”
    â€œI’d rather not. I’ll let one of the assistant editors have it.”
    â€œWhy all the fluff all of a sudden?”
    â€œI think the board is pressuring Tyler to attract more advertisers. And right now that means finding readers who only eat organic at strip clubs and are willing to drop two hundred bucks on a pot of beard-grooming cream.”
    Griff smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Could be a great story.”
    â€œYou’re kidding, right?”
    â€œHey, sometimes you have to do certain things to please certain people. Then you get what you want.”
    She sat up, surprised. “I guess so. Still.” She checked her watch. “The risotto should be ready. Are you hungry?”
    â€œUm, not yet.”
    Usually he came home ravenous.
    â€œOkay, we can wait a few more minutes, no problem. You’ll never guess what I learned from Patrick today.”
    His brow furrowed. “Patrick?”
    â€œThe Irish doorman.”
    â€œRight.”
    â€œI shared an elevator with one of the longtime residents, a very odd, elegant old lady who wore a veil that covered her face. She lives in the apartment right below us. Turns out she was involved in an incident on one of the terraces way back when. She was cut on the face by a maid, who then fell to her death.”
    â€œHuh.”
    He was far away, not even listening to her.
    â€œAnyway, what a story, right?” She ran a finger around the lip of her wineglass. “And your daughter called, looking for you.”
    He snapped back to attention. “Which one?”
    â€œMiranda.”
    He leapt up with a smooth leonine grace. “I’ll call her back now, before dinner.”
    His footsteps echoed against the stark walls as he retreated into the bedroom. He didn’t seem like a man on the verge of proposing. Or maybe he was behaving so strangely because he was nervous.
    Swigging down another mouthful of wine, she looked out the window at the brick facade of another building filled with people who were aging and fighting and making love. The thought was oddly