Do You Want to Know a Secret? (39 page)

Louise glanced out through the glass wall of the Fish-bowl. Pete Carlson was in his anchor chair, poised to begin.

Tonight, all the networks led with campaign stories. Coming out of the opening story, Carlson voiced over some pictures of Joy Wingard in Newark visiting the AIDS care facilities. Louise noticed it first.

“Hey, isn’t that the priest from Bill’s funeral talking to Joy Wingard?”

The camera closed in on the young man’s face as Ye-lena, Range and Jean peered.

Yelena nodded, impressed. “Yes, I think you’re right. Nice catch, lady. Sure you don’t want a job in news?”

Chapter 86

Returning from Newark
, a very tired Eliza inserted the key and opened her apartment door. As she dropped her canvas carry bag in the foyer, she kicked off her black and white spectators and unbuckled the wide patent leather belt cinching her waist. A squealing Janie, fresh from her bath and dragging her stuffed monkey, greeted her.

“Mommy, Mommy!”

“My sweetheart! I missed you!”

She gathered the little girl in her arms and inhaled the deliciousness of her. Mr. Bubble on four-year-old skin.

“Did you have a good day?”

“Uh-huh. Zippy and I had friends over.”

“You did? Who?”

“Billy and Chris.”

Eliza spotted Mrs. Twomey coming from the bathroom, Janie’s clothes gathered in her arms. Mrs. Twomey looked beat.

“Hi, Mrs. Twomey. How did it go today?”

“Fine, fine,” Mrs. Twomey responded in her light brogue. “The little Haffler twins came over to play this afternoon and the three of them had a grand time.” Eliza envisioned what her day had been. If she was tired, she didn’t complain about it. It was a given in Mrs. Twomey’s world that people worked hard. That’s all there was to it.

“We made cookies, Mommy!”

“You did? What big kids! I hope you saved some for me.”

“We did. And Mrs. Twomey made applesauce. We saved some of that for you, too.” Janie was enthusiastic. She loved Mrs. Twomey’s applesauce.

It was at moments like these that Eliza felt she was missing something. She should be home, supervising the play dates, baking the chocolate chips with her child. It was a recurrent theme.

Janie prodded her toward the kitchen, eager to show off her cookies. The two sat at the glass table, Janie drinking milk, Eliza sipping a Diet Coke. Janie nibbled on her cookie, making only small progress. Eliza popped down three in short order and knew she could easily devour the rest of them. She pushed the plate aside.

Mrs. Twomey, having straightened up after the bath and turned down Janie’s bed, came in to say good night.

“Night-night, Mrs. Twomey. See you tomorrow.” Janie rose and gave her a big hug. Mrs. Twomey hugged back, genuinely and affectionately.

“Good night, Mrs. Twomey, and thank you.”

The housekeeper looked like she wanted to say something.

“What is it, Mrs. Twomey? Is something wrong?”

“Mrs. Blake, I’ve been wanting to tell you for quite a while and I’m just going to come out with it. I’ve been watching that Pete Carlson on the news and I think you are so much better than he is. I think you should have gotten Bill Kendall’s job.” She exhaled with a deliberate nod of the head. “There. I’ve said it.”

Eliza smiled. “I think you’re a bit prejudiced, Mrs. Twomey. But thanks all the same. I appreciate it.”

Hearing Mrs. Twomey lock the front door behind her, Eliza glanced at the microwave’s digital clock—8:15. Already. Janie went to bed at 8:30. A big half hour at the end of the day to spend with her little girl. Quality time, schmality time. It wasn’t enough, and she knew it.

Mother and daughter walked down the hall to the little girl’s room and started their routine.
Goodnight, Moon
, Walt Disney’s version of
Button Soup, Clifford the Big Red Dog
, and
Curious George
. Most kids, Eliza speculated, would want
Goodnight, Moon
read last, just prior to lights out. Not Janie. Janie liked to be prepared.
Goodnight, Moon
was the stage-setter and got her mind thinking in the direction of going to sleep. The other stories were the ones she really enjoyed, always saving
Curious George
for last.

“I love monkeys. Can we get a monkey, Mommy? Please?”

“You have Zippy, sweetheart.”

Janie wasn’t buying it. “I mean a real monkey.”

“No.”

“Why?”

“We can’t keep a monkey in an apartment.”

“Please?”

“Sorry, Janie. The answer is no.”

The afternoon spent with Billy and Christopher Haffler had left Janie tired enough to give up fairly easily. A half-dozen hugs, kisses, “night-nights” and “I love yous” later, and the little girl was settled in for the night.

Eliza padded back down to the kitchen, peeling off her pantyhose as she walked. Instinctively, she went over and turned on the television that rested on the counter. She hit the rewind button of the VCR, rolling back the tape of the
Evening Headlines
. She had the VCR programmed to tape the show every night.

A fifteen-hour day, and in less than seven hours she’d be up to do it again. Eliza groaned and mentally checked off what she wanted to do before she could crawl gratefully into bed. A good, hot bath was high on the list.

She hit the Play button. The tail end of the local news sports report popped on the screen. The Mets lost again. So did the Yankees. The sports announcer was disgusted.

Mrs. Twomey had left some roast chicken, green beans and a baked potato on a covered plate in the microwave. Not really tasting what she was eating, Eliza listened as the
Evening Headlines
began. She watched entranced as Pete Carlson delivered the day’s news.

Pete might not be impressive in person, but Eliza had to admit that on television he came across powerfully. Funny, how TV could do that. She had seen people who had great personal magnetism not make the grade as TV personalities. Carlson was the reverse. In the flesh, he had the charisma of day-old bread, but on the screen, he shone. It was surprising that the ratings were down. Maybe the public somehow sensed what a rat he was and tuned out.

“Meow!” Eliza purred out loud, disgusted with herself for dwelling on Carlson. She was jealous and she knew it. Increasingly, she realized she wanted the anchor job. Just run your own race, she told herself. Focus on your job and do it in the best way possible.

Carlson was talking over the pictures of Joy Wingard. Predictably, the screen showed Mrs. Wingard’s eyes filling up as she held the AIDS baby. Eliza knew the moment she had seen the tear in Joy’s eye that afternoon that the picture would make the evening news. It was a natural.

The last tel-op was Joy talking to the young priest. Standing near Joy, Eliza had heard him introduce himself as Father Fisco from Sacred Heart Cathedral. She had immediately placed him as the priest who gave the memorable sermon at Bill’s funeral. What had he said to Joy behind closed chapel doors? What had he wanted from her?

Eliza poured scalding water over a decaffeinated tea bag in a yellow ceramic KEY mug. She was too tired to speculate further about Joy Wingard and Father Fisco. Her mind was already looking ahead to tomorrow. She had to be up at her usual painful hour, anchor the show, go out and do a couple of interviews with outside observers of Mrs. Wingard’s AIDS fund-raising efforts and, then, hopefully, sit down to write the script for the piece. The video shot today would definitely be worth using again in the takeout piece, even though some of it had already aired on the show tonight as hard news. In addition, the Washington bureau was shooting pictures of the office where volunteers were busy counting the money that was flowing into the D.C. post office box. Other KEY bureaus around the country were getting reaction from people in the street on what they thought of Joy Wingard’s efforts for the AIDS Parade for Dollars.

Yes, Eliza decided, the elements were well covered. The piece had all the makings of a winner and Eliza was determined to have her best effort air on the
Evening Headlines
.

But right now, the bathtub beckoned.

Chapter 87

Jean opened a
pouch of dried cat food and emptied it into Sylvester’s bowl. The black and white cat stared indifferently from beneath the kitchen table. Jean scooped the contents of a can of corned beef hash into a microwavable bowl, covered it and zapped it for six minutes. As she ate in silence, she reflected that her dinner was not that much different from her pet’s.

Jean’s mood was not improved by thoughts of what she had witnessed in Range’s office. Louise and Range had become quite an item in her absence and she didn’t approve, not one bit. Seeing Louise in the Fishbowl tonight was a reminder of Bill. How any woman could ever be interested in another man after she’d had Bill was beyond Jean. He was the best and anyone else fell short in comparison.

Sylvester finally arose, stretched and glided over to his bowl. He halfheartedly took a few bits of the ersatz chicken concoction and then walked away in disdain.

“Aren’t you the high and mighty one? You should be glad that you are fed at all, for all the feedback I get from you!”

High and mighty. Louise Kendall thought she was so high and mighty. Sashaying in there this evening dressed like a common floozy. She was so sure of herself, sidling up to Range and flirting unabashedly. She should be ashamed!

And Range. What came over him as soon as that woman walked into the room? He acted like a fool. Didn’t he have any loyalty to Bill? It was disgusting!

A job in news, indeed. Sure, Yelena, that’s just what they all needed. Louise Kendall in the newsroom, another office affair. Jean grimaced at the thought. She had witnessed dozens of personal relationships develop in the news department over the years. Some lasted, most didn’t. But all of them had turned her off. Work and love, not to mention sex, just didn’t go together. She would never allow herself to get involved with anyone at work.

Not that anyone had ever asked.

In all her years at KEY the only one who had ever interested her, the only one she had guiltily fantasized about, was Bill. He was the only one she had ever loved. And she was very sure there would be no other. Louise Kendall should get down on her knees and thank God that she’d been married to Bill and be forever grateful that he’d fathered her child. The fact that Louise Kendall was showing interest in another man was revolting. Being Bill Kendall’s widow, even if they had been divorced, should be enough for any woman.