Kiss the Girls and Make Them Cry(6)
Gina wondered if Facebook could help narrow her search. She tried the first name on her highlighted list: Carley Ryan. Predictably, there were dozens of women and a few men with that name. She typed in “Carley Ryan, Boston College.” There were four matches, but none appeared to be in the age range she was seeking. She tried again, using “Carley Ryan, REL News,” but nothing came up.
She was about to try the same exercise with the next name on her list, Casey, when she paused. CRyan by her own words had a “terrible experience” while working at REL News. If that had happened to Gina, would she include a mention of REL on her Facebook account? Probably not. And someone who had a bad experience might just want to disappear. Or she might be one of those people who just don’t like using social media.
Gina debated but then dismissed the idea of sending an email to each of the nine women. CRyan for whatever reason had chosen not to respond to the email Gina had sent a week and a half ago. Why would she answer if she sent her one today? She picked up her phone and began dialing the phone number for Carley Ryan.
“Hello.” The woman who answered the phone sounded middle-aged.
“Hello, is this Mrs. Ryan?”
“Yes, it is.”
“My name is Gina Kane. I graduated Boston College in 2008.”
“Did you know my daughter, Carley? She was class of 2006.”
“Honestly, I don’t recall meeting Carley. I’m researching for an article about Boston College graduates from that time period who went on to work in the news business. Did Carley ever work for one of the TV networks such as REL News?”
“Oh, not my Carley,” the woman said with a small laugh. “Carley believes watching TV is a waste of time. She’s an instructor with Outward Bound. She’s currently leading a canoeing trip in Colorado.”
After scratching Carley from her list, Gina looked at the remaining names and phone numbers. There was no way to tell which numbers were those of the graduates versus the parents.
She dialed again. Casey answered on the first ring and explained she had gone straight to law school and then been hired by a firm in Chicago. Another dead end.
She next left a message for Catherine.
Charlie turned out to be a male who was an accountant.
The number for Charlotte was preceded by 011. The address column listed a street in London, England. Gina checked her watch. England was five hours ahead. Not too late to call. The phone was answered on the second ring by a middle-aged woman with a British accent. She explained that immediately after graduation her daughter Charlotte had accepted a position with Lloyd’s of London and had been at the firm ever since.
Gina left a message for Chloe.
Clarissa’s mother explained in agonizing detail that her daughter had married her high school sweetheart, had four beautiful children, and had only worked for one year in Pittsburgh before becoming a stay-at-home mother. She added that this was in stark contrast to her experience. “I worked for almost ten years before I decided to have a family. Even though it worked for Clarissa, don’t you agree that it makes more sense for women to work at least five years to establish their careers, to build their self-confidence before rushing into a commitment? I tried to tell Clarissa, but do you think she would listen to me? Of course not. I—”
A return call from Chloe gave Gina a merciful excuse to end the conversation. Chloe had gone straight to medical school and now had a fellowship at the Cleveland Clinic.
The number for Christa had been disconnected.
Courtney answered while on her lunch break. She had gotten her master’s and gone straight into teaching.
Trying not to feel discouraged, Gina looked at the only two remaining names, Catherine and Christina. Not sure what to do next, she got up and made herself a sandwich.
6
Feeling invigorated after lunch, Gina looked at the address information for each of the former students. The most recent for Christina was Winnetka, Illinois, an upscale suburb about fifteen miles from Chicago. She checked the telephone area codes for Winnetka, 224 and 847. Christina’s phone number on the spreadsheet began with 224.
Hoping against hope, she dialed that number. A cheery voice answered with a robust hello. Gina’s now practiced opening explained the reason she was calling.
Christina’s friendly tone quickly morphed into an angry rant. “So you’re calling me to help you write a story about how wonderful Boston College is. Skip your stupid story and write about this. My parents met when they were undergrads at BC. You couldn’t find two more loyal alums. They gave money every year, volunteered for a slew of committees. I did the same after I got out. And then five years later my younger brother applies. Top ten percent in his class. Captain of the lacrosse team. Involved in every activity. An all around great kid and they turn him down. ‘We had so many qualified applicants from your area’ was all they would say. After all my parents and I did! Do me a favor. Lose my number.”
The sound of the phone being slammed down signaled the end of the call. Gina chuckled to herself. If Christina had stayed on the phone a moment longer, she could have given her Rob Mannion’s number. I’m sure the two of them would have a wonderful conversation, she thought.
* * *
Gina stared out the window. She was hitting nothing but blind alleys. Peachtree City, Georgia, was the address Rob had provided for Catherine Ryan. But when she searched the online databases for that area, none of the Catherine Ryans she found matched the age of the woman she was looking for.