Do You Want to Know a Secret? (13 page)

Bill Kendall’s funeral. Joy closed her eyes, holding the receiver tight, imagining Nate Heller pacing around his office, puffing furiously on his Camel.

“Everyone and his mother will be there. You can bet your life it will be the lead story on all the network evening shows. You’ve got to go. I want you to show up in the videotape. Most likely they’ll mention you by name as one of the participants. Joy, we need all the positive exposure we can get.”

Joy knew she could not win this one even if she wanted to. “Okay,” she answered resignedly. “When and where?”

“Monday morning, eleven o’clock, in Newark, New Jersey, of all places. Go figure. Bill Kendall, the premier anchorman, closes out the show in that armpit.”

Joy pictured Nate shaking his head and grimacing on the other end of the phone. The conversation concluded, Joy rose and instinctively went over to the closet and walked inside. She did not turn to select from among the daytime suits appropriate for a funeral. Instead, she went to the evening dresses. She pulled out the simple black Ralph Lauren evening sheath, the one she had worn that night. She held the dress close and caressed it. She pressed it to her nose and inhaled. The scent of Jean Patou’s “Joy.” Bill had commented on it that first night. She could remember it all so vividly. Seventeen months ago. December in Washington at the Kennedy Center.

There had been a private reception prior to the Kennedy Center Honors. Joy knew there would be many beautiful women dressed in elaborate and expensive dresses at the prestigious function. She had opted for the black sheath.

Bill had used it as his conversational gambit. “Understated elegance,” he’d said, nodding toward her in appreciation. “You look lovely tonight, Mrs. Wingard.” He stood before her, dazzling in his tuxedo.

“Thank you, Mr. Kendall.” Joy smiled.

“Call me Bill, please,” said the anchorman. He took a sip of his drink. “I suppose you must be busy now, with the race starting to heat up.”

Joy thought before answering. “To tell you the truth, Win and his team are busier than ever. And, yes, I suppose I am more tightly scheduled than usual. But so far, so good. I’m not overwhelmed. Actually, the occupied time is good for me.” She leaned toward him and finished softly. “Less time to think.”

Bill had looked back at her with recognition in his eyes. It was not the first time she had seen the anchorman in person. In fact, she had smiled at him across a round table at a White House dinner just a few months earlier. But each had concentrated on conversation with their respective dinner partners and that had been that. Joy had been relieved at the time. She was extremely wary of the media, and by saying nothing to the man she had no chance of misspeaking.

But at the Kennedy Center that night, she found herself wanting to talk, wanting to connect with this attractive man with the deep brown eyes.

“Before we go a word further, is anything I say on or off the record?”

“Whichever you prefer.”

“I think off would be best.” She had a feeling she could say things to this man that she wouldn’t normally say. There was something about Bill Kendall that made her want to let her guard down.

“Politics acquires a life of its own, doesn’t it?” Bill said. “I suppose every field is like that. I know TV news is. Even though I am the figurehead, the one around whom the troops rally, there are many times rather than feeling I am calling the shots, that I feel controlled by events and other people.”

“Yeah, but at least you don’t have to deal with a campaign manager.” Joy spoke unthinkingly and wished that she could take the remark back. She was always so conscious of presenting a united front. Why did she just say what popped into her mind with this man?

But Bill had laughed heartily. “Oh yes, Nate Heller. He is a character, isn’t he? Determined, focused, driven. Look, better to have him on your side than on the other guy’s. And since Heller is a born worrier, let him do that for you.”

“If only it were that easy,” she said quietly.

Bill looked hard into her face. She didn’t even know this man. Why was she opening up to him? Why did she feel she could trust him?

The chimes rang, signaling that it was time to proceed to the theater and honor five of America’s best and brightest.

“I’ve enjoyed talking with you, Mrs. Wingard.”

“Joy, please.”

He took her hand and shook it, holding on a moment too long, and smiling warmly.

“Joy,” he repeated.

The next week
KEY News
had called and said that
Evening Headlines
wanted to do a segment on prominent Washington wives. Mrs. Wingard was one of the women who Bill Kendall would like to interview. Win and Nate had loved the idea.

The KEY entourage had invaded her office. A cameraman, a soundman, a producer named Mary Cate Ryan, and Bill Kendall. Nate Heller and Kathy, Joy’s secretary, were also there to watch. Immediately, Bill had put Joy at ease. He told some self-deprecating joke, they had all laughed and the tension was broken. Joy was fascinated watching Bill, the professional, in action. Obviously having done his homework, he asked insightful questions. He drew her out, following up on her answers with other, more probing inquiries. At the end of the half hour she felt exhilarated.

A few days later, Kathy had buzzed her on the intercom. “Bill Kendall is on the line.” Joy found herself smiling as she picked up the receiver.

“Just wanted to let you know personally that you’re on tonight.”

“How’d I do?”

“We’re always our own worst critics, so you’ll have to make your own judgment. But I thought you came across very well. Anyway, I’ll be in Washington again next week. I was wondering if you’d like to have lunch?”

Then, like politics, TV news and other fields of human endeavor, their relationship had acquired a life of its own.

Chapter 22

He didn’t know
how many more Saturday nights he could stand to spend with her and yet he didn’t know how to break things off. He needed her. Having Yelena as his ally was as essential now as it had been all along.

Just last night as they lay together, she’d told him of the call she had gotten from the corporate office. The chairman of KEY had a thing for Eliza Blake. He loved the way she had come across the night of Bill’s death. The public was crazy about her, too. Viewers were asking for more of her.

“What about the
Mole
article, isn’t that hurting her?

“Well, it’s pretty hard to ignore. The powers that be are watching to see how it plays out with the public. In our business, perception is reality.”

The early morning light seeped from the crack at the side of the window shade. Pete looked at Yelena sleeping beside him. Everything about her was bothering him now. At least during the day, with her makeup on, she was more appealing. Now she looked washed out and tired. Her body was soft, but it held no comfort for him. The hysterectomy scar on her loose abdomen was, to his mind, another turn-off.

His mind switched gears. No wonder the chairman was gaga for Eliza Blake. She was young and firm and beautiful. Too bad she was such a threat.

Maybe he had to turn up the heat a little more.

Chapter 23

When Mack asked
her if she and Janie would like to go out for brunch on Sunday, Eliza suggested Tavern on the Green. Even though it was one of the top tourist stops in New York City, Eliza unabashedly loved the restaurant. It was a place where the eye was deluged with pleasures. If the food didn’t quite live up to expectations, it didn’t matter. It was beautiful and just noisy enough to bring kids.

They were seated in the Crystal Room next to a large window looking out at the garden filled with banks of pink and white azaleas that blazed in the May sun. As the white-jacketed waiter placed tall Bloody Marys in front of Mack and Eliza and a Shirley Temple with double cherries in front of Janie, it was Mack who began to reminisce.

“I remember the first time I came here. It was September 1976, and Warner Leroy had just redone the whole place. I had been at KEY for about two weeks in my first job out of college, a desk assistant working the four to midnight shift on the TV assignment desk. You know, a real entry-level job, answering phones, distributing wire copy in the days before computers, doing some errands. Anyway, one night an assignment editor on the radio side organized a group of newsroom people to come over here after work.”

Mack stirred his drink with its celery stalk and smiled. “When we walked in, there was a huge sheet cake. It must have been sixteen feet long. On top of the cake, in icing, was an intricate replica of Central Park. I’ll never forget it. It was all there, the skating rink, the children’s zoo, the carriage drives, the boating pond, Belvedere Castle, the Obelisk—even little miniatures of the Alice in Wonderland and Hans Christian Andersen statues. I was fascinated by the artistry of it and by the magical quality of this place.”

Mack went on, acquainting her with facts about Central Park, the backdrop for Tavern on the Green. The 840-acre masterpiece in the middle of New York City was larger than the principality of Monaco. The Sheep Meadow had real sheep grazing on it in the days before it was used for big concerts. The sheepfold became Tavern on the Green.

Mack looked up at the Baccarat and Waterford chandeliers. “Did you know that those two over there came from the Jaipur palace of the hemp king of India?”

“Why, no!” Eliza answered in mock seriousness.

“Okay, okay, I’ll stop with the guided tour.” Mack grinned sheepishly. “How ya doin’, kiddo?” He smiled down at Janie, who was happily licking the first cherry off the plastic swizzle stick. The four-year-old nodded in approval.

Eliza’s gaze wandered to the fantasy mural of colorful birds, flowers and butterflies. Her eyes traveled up to the molded plaster ceiling, hand-tinted in shades of light mint green, birthday-candle pink and the palest yellow.

“I’m glad we came. It’s good to get away, even if we haven’t left the city.” She sighed. As whimsical as this place was, it seemed a lot more real than the events of the past week.

“I know a joke,” Janie volunteered.

“Good. Let’s hear it,” said Mack.