The Woman Who Wasn’t There (27 page)

All of the suffering Tania had caused. All of the collateral damage. Yet not a shred of contrition. Not a phone call or a letter to try to ease the burden of those she’d betrayed. How was that possible? Tania and her mother walked through the streets of New York, laughing and lighthearted like the city belonged to them. My nostalgia for what once was suddenly turned to rage.

Two hours after they ducked into their hotel, Tania emerged alone. She wore a black party dress. She looked thinner and prettier than I’d ever seen her. To my surprise, she walked to a bus stop farther down the street. Where could she be going? I wondered. Was she going as Alicia or someone else? I remembered what Sam Kedem said about the chance of her scamming someone else. “I don’t know if she’s doing it now,” he said, “but some day she will. Absolutely.”

My bottled-up rage came spilling out, and I turned on my camera and walked a long, diagonal path across the street toward where she was standing. My heart was pounding out of my chest.

She didn’t recognize me at first. But as I walked closer, she spotted the camera. I saw in her eyes precisely the moment when she realized it was me. She shook her head from side to side, and her body turned rigid. I was the enemy, and she was ready for battle.

“Don’t come near me, Angelo,” she hissed. “Get away from me.”

I didn’t hold back: “How could you show up here during the tenth anniversary?” I cried. “How could you?”

Her face twisted with rage, and she lunged at me. I continued to film. She grabbed for my camera. I turned and ran, and she chased me up Lexington Avenue.

“How dare you!” I screamed. “Don’t you have any feelings for the people you’ve hurt? Tania? Don’t you have any feelings at all?” Her eyes bore into me. They were on fire. “I’m calling the police,” she said, punching a number in her cell phone.

“
She’s
calling the police? How ironic,” I thought. I had seen enough, and I certainly wasn’t going to give her the satisfaction of a confrontation with the police. I turned off the camera and walked away.

I took no pleasure in that encounter. That night, I replayed the video and cringed. I felt sad. And sorry. Did that mean I forgave her? Who the hell knows? I didn’t even know who she was.

In the weeks prior to the tenth anniversary, a war of words broke out on the survivors’ forum after one member questioned the veracity of another member’s story. That turned into everyone doubting everyone else. Linda was so upset by the growing animosity among the members that she wrote an open letter to the group:

All: I have been reading these posts about frauds and am so depressed. STOP . . . we came here because not only as survivors but because as a nation we were wounded and devastated. We needed to find a place to come together and regroup, find friendship, and find peace. I know over the past 10 years, nothing can take all the pain away from me. All the sleepless nights wondering WHY? Trying to find a reason why I lived? THIS is why we are here. Please don’t allow these posts and accusations to take away or detract from what we are here for. YES, we were devastated by Tania’s actions. However, let’s not give her or anyone else any more power. As we look back over the past 10 years, let’s remember why we came together in the first place. We came here for EACH OTHER. I hope to see, hug, and kiss all of you next week and may God bless the souls that departed us and their families on September 11, 2001. I know none of us would ever forget why
we came here in the first place. Please stay here and be part of my family.

The survivors mourned the woman who wasn’t there. Their initial denial, that Tania couldn’t possibly be a pretender, had eventually turned to sadness over losing their beloved friend and leader, then anger over her stunning betrayal, and, finally, acceptance and the resolve to move forward. They had come to see her as a composite of dichotomies: a gentle-hearted humanitarian on one hand, and a covetous, self-serving narcissist on the other. She was someone who could heal the deepest wounds and also inflict them. But, ultimately, the attacks on 9/11 weren’t enough to destroy the survivors, and neither was she.

We are so grateful to have been shepherded into writing this story by our wonderful agents, David Patterson and Peter McGuigan at Foundry Media. To Jerry Kalajian of Intellectual Property Group, the talented and wonderful Martha Skolnik, and Rachel Winter for putting us all together. We are also indebted to the inspiring and talented team at Touchstone who guided us with compassion and wisdom: Matthew Benjamin, David Falk, Marcia Burch, Ashley Hewlett, Meredith Vilarello, and Kiele Raymond. Finally, we would like to thank the World Trade Center Survivors’ Network for their strength, courage, and generosity in sharing their journey with us.

To Angelo Guglielmo, you rock! Thank you for trusting me with this incredible story, and for the wonderful friendship that has grown from our collaboration. As always, to my beloved husband, Loren Fisher, for his constant love and support. To my family, Dad, Carolyn, Penny, Scott, Yvonne, Nicole, and Shawn, I couldn’t love you more. To my mentors, Marilyn Dillon, Carolyn Beyrau Glickman, Fran Dauth, Jim Willse, you taught me everything about storytelling that I know. I am so grateful for my rich and enduring friendships: Jayne Daly Munoz, Amy Ellis Nutt, Mary Romano, Kitta MacPherson, Marianne Timmons, Ken Cunningham, I am humbled by your loyalty and encouragement. To Shawn Simons and Alvaro Llanos, this book thing began with you and your incredible story of courage
and survival, and we ended up family. There has been no greater gift for me, and I cherish you both.

To my Rutgers’ University mentor, Rob Snyder, thank you for sharing your keen intellect and for your endless patience, guidance, and support; and to my Rutgers’ students, you inspire me and make me proud every single day.

Finally, to my mom, Betty Elnora Eick Milligan, whom I lost when my adult life was only just dawning, but whose wisdom has guided me to every happiness and success I have experienced since. When I think of her, I am reminded of the words of Kahlil Gibran: “The teacher who is indeed wise does not bid you to enter the house of his wisdom but rather leads you to the threshold of your mind.” With more love and integrity than anyone else I have ever known, my mom gave me the courage and the will to find my way to a life with purpose and meaning. I hope she would be proud of the person I have become.

To my fabulous coauthor, Robin Gaby Fisher, who so generously bestowed her formidable talent, sharp wit, and insight throughout this writing. To everyone in the Guglielmo family (and Antonio), for always being there. To the wonderful author, Marian Fontana, for her compassion, love, and light in sharing her bold and courageous path with me. To Beth Dannhauser for her perception and guidance. To Alice Greenwald, Amy Weinstein, Jan Ramirez, Lynn Rasic, and the staff at the National September 11 Memorial and Museum for their warmth, insight, and recognizing “the endurance of those who survive.”

To Amy Rapp and Meredith Vieira for taking a chance on me and giving a deep, vibrant life to the documentary, “The Woman Who Wasn’t There.” To my generous colleagues, Andy Bowley, Peter McGovern, and Alberto Chelleri, who have always believed in the film whose footage, of course, became essential research material for the book.

To Karen Seiger of Sirene MediaWorks, who always makes an adventure fun. To Chris Edwards of Production Junction for being there for me and all artists, a filmmaker’s best friend forever. To Ross
Kauffman of Red Light Films for teaching me to be tougher. To Andrea Smith for her talent, red hair, and love of life.

To Lynn Tierney, Howard Cash, Rachael Grygorcewicz, and Sally Yerkovich for believing in me. To Peter Green for his expertise, artistry, and support. To Steve Dannhauser and Michael Weil of Weil, Gotshal & Manges LLP for their early advice. To Amanda Ripley for her astute perspective into the lives of survivors. To Mary Miles of Greenberg Traurig, and to the terrific director Steven Addair and producers Danielle Addair and Susann Brinkley of Shoulder Hill Entertainment. To Jaime Longhi and Jonathan Gray and Bruce Meyerson of Gray, Krauss and Des Rochers LLP. To Robert Seigel of Cowan DeBaets Abrahams & Sheppard LLP. To Steve Guglielmo. To Javier Amor of the Amor Group, Austin Murphy, David Schlamm, and Esther Muller of City Connections Realty for helping to keep me afloat during the process. To Anthony Antonello, Fred Funke, Ari Silverstein, Rob Purdy, Arsen Karougian, Matt McLaughlin, Mike Dawson, and Abe Clements for good times at the beach.

I’m also so very grateful to Jane Rosenthal of Tribeca Productions for her warmth and encouragement.

To Leah Packtor, Arlene Golonka, Joan Hazelton, and all the teachers at Francis Lewis High School who inspired me to plant seeds. To Charity James who believed in this project from the very beginning and created magic with laughter, love, and unabashed chutzpah. To Kelley McAuliffe for her fiery wisdom.

To Gabriel Amor who has been there, through the light and dark, to guide me with his expansive talent and warm heart—thanks for helping
me
off the precipice. To Kurt Griemsmann for being an amazing lifelong friend.

To my father, Angelo J. Guglielmo, Sr., for being a stellar role model and instilling in me his investigative instinct. And finally, to the magnificent writer, painter, and artist of life, Grace Guglielmo, who taught me how to make life an expedition, cultivate a garden, paint in vivid colors, and dream.

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