Powerstone Read Free Page B

hands remove the green jacket from her shoulders, heard
whispered words of sympathy as a camera focussed on her face. She forced a
smile, as if indifferent that her chance of replacing one of the richest women
in the world had just been replaced by a life branded by failure.
    ‘You have to make the walk now,’ a
denim-clad technician whispered, and encouraged her with a gentle shove between
the shoulder blades.
    The audience continued to chant ‘on
the streets’ as Irene followed the marked route, but she ignored the anonymity
of faces, knowing that although some pitied her, most were gleeful, enjoying
her discomfiture. The voices merged into a single bawl of derision, individual
personalities into a crowd that cried failure, but she blinked away the burning
tears and held her head high. Only when a doorman ushered her out of the studio
did the noise abate. The corridor seemed to stretch into a bleak distance.
    ‘You did great to get so far,’ the
doorman said, soothingly. He was middle aged and bald, with pouched eyes.
    Irene shook her head. ‘I failed,’
she said.
    ‘You’ll be back,’ the doorman
said, adding earnest words of sympathy that were lost on her. Kendrick was the
lion of the hour but she was only an also-ran, somebody to be moved quickly out
of the vision of a society that worshipped only success.
    Away from the cameras, Irene
allowed the emotion to take control as she surveyed her aborted dreams. With
one sentence Ms Manning had changed her life-plan from triumph to survival,
from riches to unemployment. She was indeed on the streets. She felt the
prickle of a tear that she was too late to prevent from coursing slowly down
her cheek. God, but she hoped there were no cameras waiting for her outside.
All she needed was for the world to remember her as the failed contestant with
panda eyes and smudged mascara.
    Keeping one hand on her arm, the
doorman guided her along the corridor in which various people hurried, some
giving her curious glances and others completely disregarding her. After weeks
in the public eye, to be ignored was the deepest pain of all.
    The studio was only one of a dozen
within the huge communications building, but eventually Irene stumbled out into 48th Street and the bitter rain of a New York fall. There was a limousine
waiting to take her home and a film crew asking more questions. She lifted her
face, allowing the rain to take the blame for any inadequacies of her make up.
    ‘How do you feel?’
    ‘It sucks, I mean, truly sucks! I
should have won!’
    The camera moved closer, but the
soundman shook his head, ‘sorry, Irene, I did not get that. Could you repeat
it, please?’ He looked eager, aware that he had lost something sensational, but
sense had returned to Irene.
    ‘I said all congratulations to
Kendrick. He is a worthy winner and I am sure he will do well.’ She forced
another smile, aware that her jaws were aching, reiterated her praise of
Kendrick and said that she was proud to have come so far. She felt sick as the
lights reflected on the wet streets of the city.
    The questions continued.
    ‘What will you do with your life?’
    ‘Where will you go now?’
    ‘Did you find the show a positive
experience?’
    Irene shook her head. ‘Failure can
never be a positive experience,’ she said as the truth broke through her
professional façade. ‘And what will I do with my life? Does it matter? Anything
else will be second best to this opportunity!’
    The reporter drew back, alarmed at
the venom in Irene’s face.
    ‘Let me out,’ Irene demanded.
‘I’ll walk from here. Let me out!’
    ‘But the interview?’
    ‘Your interview sucks!’ Thrusting
open the door, she pushed past the camera crew, straightened her back and
strode around the nearest corner. She did not know in which direction she was
walking, only that she had to escape from the media. Only in constant movement
could she find solace, and there was no better city in which to hide.

Chapter
Two
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