Close to You (4 page)

Paige also handled the mail from viewers. Much of it was routine. Viewers complimenting Eliza on a story she had done, or the clothes she had worn, or the way her hair had been styled. Some of it was critical, accusing Eliza of having a liberal or conservative agenda which, according to the particular writer's viewpoint, she was unfairly advancing
through her stories as the anchor of a major television network's evening news broadcast.

But the letters Paige dreaded reading were the ones from the nuts. Some were mildly troubling. Some were downright scary.

This morning's mail had brought another really sick one from the guy who had written before, and Paige reread this new one nervously, fingering the small diamond cross that hung from the silver chain around her neck.

Dear Miss Arrogant Defiant Eliza Blake,

How many times do I have to tell you?

In spite of my persistent warnings, you continue to wear those tight, short skirts that show too much. You look like a whore.

You are really asking for it. And I am going to be the one to give it to you.

Keep it up, news girl, and I swear to God, you'll be red and raw and bloody when I'm finished with you.

Paige shivered as she read the scrawled signature,
MEAT.

Carefully she held the letter by its corner as she had been told to do, and slipped it and its envelope into a larger paper wrapper. She was relieved to send it on to security.

She didn't want it anywhere near her.

Eliza hadn't slept well and it showed when she arrived at work. Paige immediately noticed the puffiness under her boss's eyes.

“Don't say a word,” Eliza warned. “I tossed and turned all night Thank God I have Doris to work her magic.”

“How did it go with the house?” Paige asked hopefully. She had been the one who had made the phone calls arranging for the driver to pick up Janie and her grandmother for the ride out to New Jersey.

“Loved it. Bought it.”

“Wow! That was quick. Congratulations.”

For someone who had just found her perfect home, Eliza didn't seem too happy. But Paige didn't think it was her place to pursue it further. Twenty-two years old, she still couldn't believe she was working at KEY News for Eliza Blake. She held her boss in awe, though she tried hard not to show it.

“Any important messages?” Eliza asked briskly.

“Range would like to see you when it's convenient, and Abigail Snow wants to know when you'll be available to tape the new promos.”

“Mail?”

The letter from Meat passed unsettlingly through Paige's mind but she did not mention it.

“FRAXA, the Fragile X Research Foundation, would like you to be their keynote speaker at a fundraising dinner at Tavern on the Green next May.”

“Fine. Check my calendar. If I'm open, accept for me. If I have something else booked, move it around.”

Eliza had never even heard of Fragile X syndrome, the most common form of inherited mental retardation, until she had gotten to know Bill Kendall, her predecessor, the legendary KEY News anchorman who had committed suicide last spring. Bill's son, William, had Fragile X. Bill had always been so kind to Eliza, especially when she was going through the worst of it after John had died and Janie was born. Louise Kendall, William's mother, had found the house she was about to buy. And William was the sweetest young man. There was no way she was going to refuse FRAXA.

Eliza turned to go into her office but stopped as Paige remembered something else.

“There was another letter from Sarah Morton.”

“Oh? Let me see it.” There was a tone of concern and sadness in Eliza's voice. She took the envelope from Paige's outstretched hand and began to read it as she walked to her desk.

Sarah was a twelve-year-old from Sarasota, Florida, and had been writing to Eliza for months. Eliza was her idol; the young girl had first written her when Eliza was still anchoring the morning show. The letter probably never would have reached Eliza's desk, as most fan letters failed to do. But Sarah's case was special.

After just a dozen years on this earth, Sarah Morton was undergoing cancer treatments. An A student who loved to play soccer and softball, Sarah explained that she watched
KEY to America
each morning and dreamed of becoming a television newswoman one day. Of all the women on TV, Sarah declared, Eliza was her favorite.

Eliza had answered Sarah's letter personally, thanking
her, encouraging her to keep up with the news and wishing her good luck. The following week Sarah sent another letter, thrilled that Eliza had responded to her letter and asking for an autographed picture.

And so it started. Eliza made it a point to take a few minutes each week to answer Sarah's sweet, handwritten letters. The girl was so grateful for her revered pen pal, Eliza hadn't had the heart to stop their correspondence. As Sarah described the torturous route of chemotherapy she was undergoing, and talked about losing her hair and how embarrassed she was about it, Eliza found herself weeping for the child and, of course, she knew she was crying for John as well. Many nights she thought of Sarah as she tucked her own Janie into bed and said a silent prayer of thanksgiving that her own little girl was healthy.

Now, as Eliza scanned the latest note, Sarah said she was coming to New York next week to see the doctors at Sloan-Kettering. Eliza instinctively felt fear as she saw the leading cancer hospital's name on the white sheet before her. Sloan was where John had died.

Things must really be bad.

There was a second, typed letter in the envelope, on the letterhead of Samuel Morton, Attorney-at-Law.

Dear Ms. Blake,

Thank you from the bottom of my heart for the correspondence you have so generously and faithfully kept up with Sarah. It has meant the world to her.

On her worst days, she rereads your letters to take her mind off the pain she is in. For all the hellish treatments she has been through, we've seen no real improvement. In fact, she is getting worse. The trip to New York is really a last-ditch attempt to see if there is anything else that can be done.

Sarah doesn't know that I am writing you, and I know that it is terribly presumptuous of me to ask what I am about to request. Is there any chance that we could set up some time for Sarah to meet you personally while we are
in New York? It would mean the world to her, and to me, to see my daughter happy.

Before she dies,
was the great unspoken.

Louise Kendall presented the signed, full-price offer to Larson Richards, the executor of his parents' estate. She could tell he was trying to seem unimpressed when she told him who the buyer of his childhood home was.

“I don't care who buys the house, Mrs. Kendall, as long as at the end of the day the deal goes through and I have my money in the bank.”

Louise could play that game. “I understand that, Mr. Richards. And you can have your money in the bank by the end of next week. My client is anxious to have her child start the school year here.”

Even the pompous Larson Richards had to be impressed with a buyer who could get a couple million dollars together in a few days.

But Louise should have predicted his next words.

“Maybe your agency underpriced the house. I'm wondering if I should have asked for more.” He sat back smugly in his office chair.

Louise put on her best poker face. She refused to let him rile her. “That's your option, of course, Mr. Richards. But if I were you, I'd take the money and run. And, of course, whether you accept the contract of sale or not, you will be
liable for the complete real-estate commission to my office. We've brought you a full-price offer, with no contingencies. We've fulfilled our obligation under the listing agreement.”

The Realtor had him and he knew it. Larson could fight it in court and he would inevitably lose. The last thing he needed right now was a legal battle. He had bigger fish to fry.

Abigail Snow was engrossed in her task of screening videotapes, searching for just the right shots of Eliza to use for the new promos for
KEY Evening Headlines.
Though ratings had stayed basically stable from the time Eliza took over as anchor, executive producer Range Bullock was hell-bent on boosting them in his constant battle to gain audience market share. With CBS, NBC, ABC, FOX and CNN all competing for the same viewers as KEY, Range was constantly fiddling with ideas designed to entice news watchers to tune in to KEY News. Bullock's ego, along with his job security, rode on the
Evening Headlines
ratings.

Market research showed that while Eliza had a high likability factor, some viewers thought she was too young to bring the gravitas necessary to anchor a network news broadcast. The anchormen at the Big Three networks were all sixty-plus, with decades of broadcast journalism experience behind them. At thirty-four, Eliza had been working in her field for only twelve years. While those years had been packed with plenty of reporting experience, she didn't have anywhere near the track record that Rather, Brokaw and Jennings did.

She was, though, much prettier.

Abigail studied the video clip on the monitor before her. Eliza's cornflower-blue eyes nearly popped from the screen. The eyes were crowned with perfectly arched brows, the exact rich-brown shade of her lustrous shoulder-length hair. Nature had blessed Eliza with alabaster skin, a small, straight nose and a full-lipped mouth, a perfect combination for television and, for that matter, life as well.

Range had talked to Abigail several times now about his vision for the latest promotional spots. He wanted to play to what some would think was Eliza's weakness, her youth. The slogan for the new promos:

“A Fresh Look at Your World.

Eliza Blake.

KEY News.”

Abigail continued to look through tape after tape, loading into the computerized editing system the various shots of Eliza that best showed off her beautiful blue eyes. For Abigail Snow, it was a labor of love.

Eliza's mind raced ahead as she hung up the telephone after Louise Kendall's call informing her that the contracts were all signed and she had bought herself a house. They would close just before Labor Day.

Though Louise had assured her that she was arranging for the home inspection and would take care of all the calls to the real-estate attorneys and the jockeying of papers back and forth that inevitably came with buying a house, especially so quickly, Eliza felt overwhelmed. The thought of the actual move itself was nerve-wracking. All the packing up. The new house, while wonderful, did need some cosmetic changes to make it more to Eliza's liking, and she would have preferred to have all the painting and wallpapering done before they moved in. But she wanted Janie to start at the new school on the first day, so they would move in and then have the redecorating done around them.
Great.

Stay calm,
she told herself.
You have the money now. It can all be arranged. Paige can call the movers and they'll do all the packing up at the apartment. You don't have to do it.

She did, however, have to make sure that Janie had the birthday party on Saturday that she had been promising her
all summer. Fifteen four- and five-year-olds, her preschool buddies, were coming on Saturday afternoon. Eliza had been looking forward to it too. But she hadn't realized that she would be in the midst of this house purchase and heartsick about the fact that Mack was going to London.

As if on cue, she heard a tap on her opened office door.

Wordlessly they looked at each other and Eliza did everything she could to keep from bursting into tears. In the five years since John had died, she hadn't been ready to open her heart to anyone else. Now, when she finally had, Mack, too, was going away.

Mack walked over to her desk and stood before it.

“I've made up my mind. I'm not going.”

Eliza wanted to leap with joy, so much did she want him to stay here, with her, with Janie. She wanted them to let things take their course and see if they found that they wanted to spend the rest of their lives together. But she knew deep down he couldn't stay. Mack had to take this job.

“Nice try, Mack. You have to go and we both know it.” She bit her lower lip.

“No. We both
don't
know it. The job isn't all that important to me.” Mack was trying hard to be determined.

Eliza laughed in spite of herself. “Yeah, right. ‘Chief European Correspondent' isn't all that important to you. Who are you kidding? If you turn this down—a chance to do a job you've dreamed about—you'll wonder about it for the rest of your life, Mack. And you will, eventually and inevitably, begin to resent me because I kept you here. You'll watch me anchoring the broadcast each night, getting all the acclaim and awards that go with it, and you'll resent the fact that you held yourself back, that you didn't go for the whole enchilada. Not to mention that the Front Row would write you off.”

“I don't give a damn about the Front Row! What the executives think or don't think about me doesn't matter. I'm in love with you, Eliza. And I don't want to leave you.”

That did it. The tears welled in Eliza's eyes and she felt
sorry for poor Doris, who would really have her work cut out for her tonight. She began to sob, and as Mack took her in his arms and held her, it took all of her strength to say what came next.

“Well, I'm not sure I'm in love with you. You shouldn't stay in New York on my account.”

She was lying and they both knew it.

Susan Feeney loved her garden. Each clear morning, before her children woke, she would pour herself a cup of coffee, go outside and walk slowly around her well-tended yard, checking on the progress of all the flowers she had lovingly planted. In the three years they had lived in this, their second and much bigger house, she had managed to plant hundreds of seedlings and bulbs selected so that from late winter through autumn, a large number of plants bloomed gaily.