Private affairs : a novel (63 page)

"Why should you feel sorry for them? It sounds to me like they were nothing but trouble."

"Well, no question, they were a pain in the ass. But, funny thing: when you got to know them they were okay. Just . . people. Like everybody else."

"And you liked them?"

"Well, sure. Some I did, some I didn't. Like everywhere."

"And they liked you?"

"Yeh. We got along."

"Did they make you an honorary citizen of Nuevo?"

"How the hell did—? Well, Cesar joked about giving me a piece of land in town, but it wasn't like I was a citizen."

"Cesar? One of the people in town?"

"Right. Decent old guy. Everybody's old man, sort of."

"But how did that happen? How could you make friends with them while you're building a dam that's going to flood their town?"

"I just . . . hung around. Damn it, I liked the place! I've been all the hell over the country, every state just about, but this place I really liked— the town, the valley, the people. So I'd hang around and we'd rap and after a while there were a lot of us. ..."

"How many?"

"Fifteen, twenty, sometimes more; they'd come and go, but there was usually a bunch telling stories, rapping . . . like Cesar . . . he'd talk about years ago when the place was a jumping town; he and his friend, a guy named Zachary, dead now, used to hunt rabbits, chase 'em into the— well, that's a long story. And this guy Gaspar? Owns the general store; knows everybody all the way to Pecos, and all the gossip; used to listen at the window when people dumped their problems on Cesar's daughter. You probably heard of her—Isabel Aragon—she was elected to the legislature in the last election. Isn't that something? I wasn't around; we'd shut down for the winter and I was on another job, but I'll bet they were so damn proud. ..."

Elizabeth let the interview unfold at its own pace. Her eyes never left Olson's face; the warmth of her smile and the intimate line of her body, leaning forward in her chair, made him forget the camera: it was as if they were alone.

When Tony watched the uncut tape with her the next day, in Los Angeles, he let out a sigh. "Dynamite. You are a wizard, my sweet. How did you find him?"

"Cesar told me about him. I'd thought of interviewing Cesar and Maya and a few others, but I wanted someone from outside who cared about them."

"Well, you found him. Pity you can't use him for three months."

"I'm using him next week, Tony."

"My sweet, you can't. We've scheduled the European interviews into April."

"I know, but they can all be moved back a week." She was rewinding the tape. "Why did you think I came in today to edit it?"

"I thought you came in to see me."

"Not now, Tony; I'll see you for dinner."

"You'll have to tell Bo you're using this guy next week."

"I know. I'm seeing him this afternoon."

"Well, then. Dinner. L'Orangerie, and wear something special."

"Why?"

"You and I are going to make a potential sponsor fall in love with us."

"Do we need a new sponsor?"

"Bo says we lost one," he said carelessly. "I don't pay attention, but tonight's a big one. Japanese cars. Or is it German cameras? Whatever it is, we're supposed to be our most beautiful and charming selves. I'll be back at six to pick you up."

As he left, Elizabeth rewound the tape and began running it again, in spurts, cutting it to fifteen minutes and editing out the words unsuitable for television. As she reached the end, Bo Boyle came in and watched the last few minutes.

Elizabeth: Why isn't it a good idea to have a lake in that valley? We can always use more places for recreation, can't we?

Olson: Depends on the place. I don't like the way they're doing this one, is all. Look, I've worked on a lot of these fancy resorts and nobody builds them out of the goodness of their heart—they build them to make big bucks. Which is okay—everybody likes to make money—but you shouldn't do it by hurting decent people like Cesar and the rest.

Elizabeth: You mean they should be able to stay?

Olson: Sure. Why not?

Elizabeth: But their town will be gone.

Olson: Build a new one. There's lots of room—we're not doing any work at all in one whole section of the valley. It'll just sit there, empty.

Elizabeth: Build a new town?

Olson: It's not such a big deal; people do it all the time. Tornadoes, hurricanes, earthquakes—people rebuild. They could take some of that land—nobody'd miss it—and then everybody'd be happy. I'd

even work for nothing, after hours, to help them. And build myself a place, too, a real home, for between jobs. This is a damn nice valley we're talking about; and nobody should be kicked out of iti Listen, this is a terrific idea! Everybody can be there because damn it, there is room in that valley for everybody!

At the last word, Boyle turned and slipped out of the room. His office was a few steps away; once at his desk he punched the numbers on his telephone and drummed his fingers while waiting. "Boyle," he told Rourke's secretary and waited again until Rourke was on the line. "It may not be anything, but I thought you'd want to know about it. LoveLPs just taped an interview with a guy named Olson, construction chief on a dam in that place in New Mexico, and he came up with the idea that the townspeople ought to be given land high up to build a new town. Did you say something?"

l *No, w Rourke replied. "Go on."

"That's about it. You told me to watch for stories on mining and re-sons, so I thought you'd want to know about this one."

"Did she prime him to say what he did?" Rourke asked.

"Not clear. But she always does preliminary' interviews, so it's likely she knew what he'd say."

"Kill it." Rourke said.

"No problem. Do you want a copy of the tape?"

"I want the original. No copies. Is that clear 0 "

"Sure thing."

"And let me know what she does next."

"About what""

"About anything. Is she there now

"Yen. Editing her tape."

".And staying the night at Tony's?"

"I presume. She doesn't inform me, but she hasn't stayed in the Beverly Hills cottage smce they got back from Europe."

".All right. How is Tony's mail?"

"Fair. Up and down. He's slow, though; he just doesn't knife people the way he used to."

"What were last week's ratings?"

"Twenty. Not as low as before we had her, but not where we'd like them. We lost the greetmg card company; I've lined up a couple of possible new ones to fill m."

"All right. Keep m touch. And kill that interview."

Boyle started back to the editing room, then slowed. Why do it now,

when he'd have to give reasons and see those gray eyes change from friendliness to anger? There was a better way to handle it.

Isabel, Cesar, and Luz brought Maya with them to Elizabeth's house to watch the February 6 edition of "Anthony." Holly rescheduled her voice lesson to be with them and they all ate dinner together, then moved to the den and sat in a semicircle in front of the television set, waiting for Elizabeth to introduce Jock Olson.

"This is Elizabeth Lovell and 'Private Affairs,' " said Elizabeth on the screen, after Tony had finished his opening interview. "Introducing you tonight to an apprentice chef, Terry Pelz of Butte, Montana, whose private dream was to study in Paris with the great—"

"Chef?" asked Maya in bewilderment.

"Mother, what happened?" Holly demanded.

Elizabeth stared at the screen where she sat in an empty restaurant in the sixteenth arrondissement of Paris with a gangly boy who talked fervently of food as art and love. "Someone made a mistake," she said angrily. "I scheduled Terry for next week. I left five notes on five different desks; I told Bo, I told Tony. And I put the tape in the box for tonight."

She switched off the television set. "If you'll excuse me, I'm going to make a telephone call."

She went to her bedroom and closed the door. "Al," she said when the engineer answered, "who mixed up my tapes?"

"Mixed up? Nobody. There were only four tapes in tonight's box— three of Tony's and yours on this guy Pelz. Is something wrong?"

"Yes, but it's not your fault. I'll see you tomorrow."

She stood in the doorway of the den. "Holly, do you mind if I go to Los Angeles tonight? Somebody deliberately switched those tapes and I can't wait to find out who did it. And why."

"There's no plane tonight," Isabel said. Her mouth drooped with disappointment. She and Elizabeth had planned to pressure key legislators with the mail they expected to come in after Olson's interview. Maya had written a pamphlet telling how a new town would have historical value, since the oldest buildings, including the church, would be moved to the new site; how it would create goodwill by showing that progress didn't have to steamroll people; how it would provide jobs for New Mexicans.

Now they couldn't use any of it. They'd have to wait—and the legislature would be in session only through March. Seven more weeks.

"The network plane is at the airport," Elizabeth said. "I was going to fly in early tomorrow. What do you think, Holly?"

"I think you should go. And take me. Will you? I'd only miss one day of school."

"This isn't the best time. It may be a battle royal. I will next week, if you can miss rehearsal."

"I can miss anything just to go somewhere else for a while."

"Tell me about it," Luz muttered. She turned to Isabel. "Can we go with Elizabeth to the airport?"

"We'll all go. Padre? Wake up."

Thinking of them, Elizabeth smiled to herself as the plane climbed above Santa Fe's small splash of bright lights on the dark plateau. Then the smile faded. It was bad enough that someone had switched her tapes without consulting her, but then no one had bothered to tell her about it. What was going on?

"Who was it?" she demanded of Tony. He had been out to dinner when she arrived at his house, and when he came home to find her in the living room it had taken her ten minutes to convince him that neither love nor desire had brought her to Malibu twelve hours early: she wanted to talk.

"I don't know," he said. "Word of honor, my sweet, I have no idea. I didn't even know your sensitive macho was dropped; you know I never see the show until the next day when you and I can watch it together. Somebody probably mixed up the tapes after a night of too much booze or coke or both; we'll run it next week and all will be well." He put his arms around her. "But it's a blessing in disguise; it brought you to me tonight. Oh, don't frown, dearest Elizabeth; it hurts me to see you frown."

"Why didn't anyone call me to tell me a mistake had been made?"

"How do I know? They knew you'd be here tomorrow and they could tell you then."

"I should have been consulted before air time. 'They' didn't want me to know in advance. Who are 'they'?"

"I don't know! Do you doubt my absolute innocence in this? It was somebody's simple mistake—"

Elizabeth slipped out of his arms and picked up her suede jacket. "It was not simple and I doubt very much it was a mistake. I'm going to talk to Bo."

"Bo! Elizabeth, Bo lives in Laurel Canyon. It's an hour's drive, at least. He is no doubt happily in bed with his young man, just as you could be much more happily in bed with me. This can wait until morning!"

"No it can't. I've got to talk to him, Tony. 'Private Affairs' is mine; it's my part of the show. That was our agreement. And as long as I'm in charge of it, no one is going to do anything to it behind my back."

"You're right. No question about it. But you can make that clear in the

morning when we're all more alert. Sleepy people are not good in discussions, Elizabeth; they misunderstand each other and get angry and I've had a good deal to drink and I can't handle this. It's not the right time for you to have a face-off—"

"May I use your car?"

He sighed deeply and loudly. "I'll drive you. Eleven o'clock; we'll be there at midnight. The witching hour. How pleased Bo will be to see us on his doorstep. God, you're lovely when you're fierce. Like a goddess who's been betrayed by a mortal. All right, let's go; at least there's a moon; Laurel Canyon will be pleasant to behold."

Elizabeth did not notice the moon or Laurel Canyon; she was brooding. And by the time she faced Bo, scowling darkly in his satin and velvet dressing gown, filling their glasses with Scotch though he knew she disliked it, she was angrier than ever. "Just tell me how it happened," she said coldly. "And that it won't happen when I schedule Olson next week. Not much gets past you in that place; you can make sure it doesn't happen again."

"If I so desired." Boyle downed his Scotch and poured another. "Which I don't. That interview with Olson was inflammatory: a political polemic that has no place on 4 Anthony' or any other entertainment show. I wouldn't allow it and neither would our legal department."

"Legal—?" Elizabeth's voice wavered. "They said we were vulnerable because of what Jock Olson said?"

"Inflammatory," repeated Boyle, and poured a third drink.

Tony was looking at him curiously. "Bo, dear Bo," he said amiably. "I've known you a long time; I always know when your imagination is percolating. You did not go to our legal beagles."

"Bullshit."

"And that is very odd," Tony continued. "Because if you didn't go to legal, why did you switch the tapes?"

Elizabeth swung her glance to Tony. "Bo switched them?"

"Oh, I'm sure he did. Nobody else has the authority."

"You've known that since I first told you about it."

"Dearest Elizabeth, of course. But I detest quarrels and I wanted to be in bed with you instead of standing in the middle of Bo's dreary living room in the wee hours wondering why he's lying about the legal department. But since we're here . . . why are you lying, little Bo Peep?"

"Tony, don't be a bore," Boyle said. "You're horny and you've had too much to drink. Crawl into bed with your inflammatory lady; take two fucks, and call me in the morning."

Tony's face darkened. "You son of a bitch, you can't talk to me like