Do You Want to Know a Secret? (21 page)

“Senator Wingard,” Eliza continued, “people say they are tired of business as usual in Washington, fed up with lawyers-turned-politicians running this country. You, sir, are a graduate of Yale Law School and have practiced for many years. How would you respond to people who say, ‘Enough with the lawyers, let’s get someone in the White House who has some real life experience?’ ”

Wingard’s eyes twinkled.

“I don’t know, Eliza, but I’d say going through the whole law school process is pretty good preparation for life. I’ve often felt that if I could make it through the intense and grueling preparation for the bar, I could make it through anything—even”—he smiled broadly—“a presidential race.”

Chapter 39

“Nice job.” Range
liked the Wingard piece.

The executive producer, Eliza, Pete Carlson and Yelena Gregory sat in the Fishbowl and viewed the Triple P one more time before air.

“It’s fairly and insightfully done,” offered Yelena. “Good work.” She looked over at Pete for his reaction.

Pete just nodded.

Range checked the broadcast lineup on his computer screen. “There’s time for Pete to ask you two questions after the piece. You and he work that out. Thirty seconds worth.”

Eliza and Pete left the glass office and walked into the studio. “Any ideas?” asked Pete.

She considered for a moment. “Well, viewers always seem to be interested in the candidate’s personal life. Why don’t you ask me what Wingard likes to do for fun? But don’t ask what the Wingards like to do
together
—there doesn’t seem to be much going on in that department.”

“Okay, what else?”

“Ask me how the AIDS Parade for Dollars is impacting on the campaign.”

“Fine.”

Eliza went off to the makeup room at the side of the studio as Pete made his way to the anchor desk where Lucille was waiting for him. After finishing Pete’s makeup, she came over to apply Eliza’s. The lipstick was matted as the
Evening Headlines
fanfare began.

Eliza watched from the side of the studio as Pete read the top stories of the day. Her piece was scheduled to run after the first commercial break. During the Geritol ad, Eliza climbed the steps to the anchor platform and took her seat beside Pete, careful to tuck the bottom of her pale green blazer beneath her so that the jacket would not appear rumpled to the camera’s critical eye.

Pete led to her piece. “Haines Malcolm Wingard is the front runner for his party’s nomination for the presidency. Eliza Blake has been following ‘Win’ Wingard and talked with him this week for our Presidential Personality Profile.”

Eliza watched the monitor as her story began. She had three minutes until the camera would come back to the anchor desk. She noticed that Pete wasn’t bothering to watch the piece. He was busy scribbling some notes to himself.

The package ran smoothly and she noted with satisfaction that it seemed shorter than three minutes. A sure sign that it was interesting. Three minutes was considered an eternity on the
Evening Headlines
.

“Ten seconds,” boomed the stage manager.

Pete was looking down at his notes.

“Five seconds.”

Pete looked up into the camera and then at her. “Interesting piece, Eliza. Tell me, what does Haines Wingard like to do when he’s not running for president?”

The camera cut to a smiling Eliza. “Well, Pete, ‘Win’ Wingard
loves
sports. He tries to attend as many basketball games as he can each season at his alma mater Michigan State. He’s also an avid golfer, although he told me that lately he’s only been able to fit in nine holes here and there. Running for president is taking up just about every waking minute.”

“And what about the Wingards as a couple? What do Senator and Mrs. Wingard like to do together?’ Pete waited expectantly. Eliza saw a slight smirk on his face, a glint in his eye.

Bastard! He had set her up. Pete was sabotaging her.

She kept a pleasant expression on her face and thought fast. She had to be truthful but what could she say? Bill’s notes, Bill’s notes. The camera watched her hesitation.

“Joy Wingard is very interested in theater and art, Pete,” she began falteringly. “Ah, in fact, Mrs. Wingard is an active member of the National Gallery and the Kennedy Center. She has tried to expand her husband’s interests in the arts. But so far, his preference is for popular show tunes and simple paintings.” To her ears, she sounded like she was babbling.

Mercifully, the stage manager motioned that time was up.

Fuming, Eliza knew she had to call Pete on what he had done. She waited and pulled him to the side of the studio after the show. The staffers in the Fishbowl could hear, but Eliza didn’t care.

“That was low!” she declared angrily.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Pete’s face was arranged in puzzled lines, but his eyes blazed.

“You know exactly what I’m talking about! I deliberately told you
not
to ask me about the Wingards together and you went right ahead and did it anyway! What are you trying to pull?”

“I’m not trying to ‘pull’ anything, Eliza. There must be some misunderstanding.”

Yeah, right.

Chapter 40

Louise Kendall was
coming into the office today to pick up the last of Bill’s personal things and Jean was dreading it.

It had to be done. Two weeks had passed since the funeral, and the office was being turned over to Pete Carlson. Yesterday afternoon, after another pleading phone call from Bill’s secretary, Louise had agreed to come and get it over with.

“Jean, I know it’s hard for you, but thank you for packing up Bill’s things. I couldn’t stand going through them myself.”

That’s me—good ol’ dependable Jean. Sure, Jean will do it. It wasn’t that she really minded. Instead, Jean resented that, given her station in life, she was just expected to agree. Sure, her job description was assistant to Bill Kendall. Sure, she had done lots more than type letters and make restaurant and airline reservations. Sure, she really had been his “coach,” always rooting for him, always keeping him organized, always protecting him. All of that was true, but the bottom line was Jean was considered Bill’s secretary, his “girl.”

Working for and with Bill was worth it. He had treated her with such respect. He considered them a team, he told her. He was very much aware that a good assistant could make his life hum, a bad one could make his life miserable. Bill appreciated Jean and he showed it in lots of ways, big and small. She remembered the first Christmas that they worked together, he gave her a pair of gold earrings from Tiffany’s and an envelope containing a generous personal check. Every birthday and Christmas for the next twelve years, it was the same: the little blue box with some small treasure, a silver pin, an ivory bracelet, a gold chain, accompanied by a check. For Jean, living alone and with no one else in her life to give her gifts of this sort, Bill’s presents were cherished.

He was stimulating, too. Always making quick observations, commenting on the events of the day on the national and world scene, Bill kept Jean on her toes. Jean looked forward to coming to work in the morning.

Let’s face it, Jean thought, you had it made. You’re never going to have a boss as good as Bill Kendall. Jean brushed back a tear. Don’t start. You’ve been doing so well, not crying at work, holding it in until you get home. Come on now.

“Hello, Jean.”

“Hi, Jean.”

Louise Kendall was standing in the doorway, looking cool and stylish in a navy spring suit. William was standing just behind her.

“Mrs. Kendall, it’s good to see you,” said Jean, shaking Louise’s hand cordially. “And, William, I didn’t know that you were coming, too! I’m so happy to see you!”

The young man withstood Jean’s hug, his eyes cast down. He liked Jean. She was always nice to him when he visited Dad. But he didn’t like it when people came right at him.

Jean picked up on the discomfort and directed herself to Louise.

“How have you been, Mrs. Kendall?”

“Oh, about as well as can be expected. And you?”

The voice in Jean’s head said, “For Christ’s sake, you’ve been divorced from the man for years. How hard can it be?” But the voice that answered said, “Fine.” What was the use in complaining?

“What are you going to do now?”

“In the long run, I’m not sure. In the short run, I’m going to take a vacation. I want to get away from KEY for a while.”

“What are you planning to do with your time off?”

“Well, at first, I’m going to just take a little time and get my house in order, literally. I have lots of little things I’ve wanted to do to my apartment. In between waiting for workmen, I’m going to do something that I’ve rarely done in all the years I’ve lived in New York. I’m going to enjoy the city. There’s so much to do here and I’ve never really bothered. I’ve always meant to, but other things have a way of coming up. You know how it is.”

“Of course,” Louise answered.

Jean was suddenly overwhelmed with a feeling of sadness over the unfairness of life. She had been with Bill, day in and day out over the last twelve years. Not a day had gone by that she hadn’t thought of him, worried about him, cared for him. During his divorce, Bill had confided to her that there was nothing left between him and his wife but a mutual love and concern for William, and a respect for one another as parents. Yet here was Louise, prosperous, pretty and the mother of his child. Louise was getting all the respect due Bill’s widow, even though they had been divorced for years.

The two women made their way from the elongated reception area outside of Bill’s office into the spacious room that was the anchorman’s. Louise immediately walked over to the glass wall that looked down at the
Evening Headlines
studio below. She could see Range in his see-through office. He was leaning back, feet up on his desk, talking on the telephone. She wanted to stop down later and ask him to her barbecue this weekend.

“I’ve packed pretty much everything now. The cartons of books are being shipped to the Omaha Library as you requested. I separated out the ones that were autographed. Those I’ve shipped to your New Jersey address.” Jean turned to Bill’s son. “William, you’re going to have quite a collection of books signed by lots of famous and important people!”