Stillwatch (35 page)

BOOK: Stillwatch

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was thrilling. You see, even though a Jennings had always held thatseat, Willard’s competition was stiff. The night we heard Willard hadbeen elected—I can’t describe it. Every election victory is exciting,but the first one is unforgettable.”The clip with the Kennedys at Willard Jennings’ birthday party . .. Abigail said, “We were all so young. . . . There were three or fourcouples who used to get together regularly and we’d sit around forhours talking. We were all so sure we could help to change the worldand make life better. Now those young statesmen are gone. I’m theonly one left in government and I often think of the plans Willard andJack and the others were making.”And my father was one of the “others,” Pat reflected as she watchedthe screen.There were several genuinely touching scenes. Maggie in the officewith Abigail thanking her for finding her mother a place in the nursinghome; a young mother tightly holding her three-year-old daughterand telling how her ex-husband had kidnapped the child. “No onewould help me. No one. And then someone said, ‘Call SenatorJennings. She gets things done.’”Yes, she does, Pat agreed.But then, with Luther interviewing her, Abigail discussed theembezzled campaign funds. “I’m so glad that Eleanor Brown hasturned herself in to complete her debt to society. I only hope that shemay also be honest enough to return whatever is left of that money,or tell who shared in spending it.”Something made Pat turn around. In the semi-darkness of thescreening room, Toby’s thick bulk loomed in his chair, his handsfolded under his chin, the onyx ring gleaming on his finger. His headwas nodding approval. Quickly she looked back at the screen, notwanting to meet his gaze.Luther questioned Abigail about her commitment to airline safety.“Willard was constantly asked to speak at colleges and he acceptedevery possible date. He said that college was the time when youngpeople were beginning to form mature judgments about the world,about government. We were living on a Congressman’s salary andhad to be very careful. I am a widow today because my husbandchartered the cheapest plane he could find. . . . Do you know the

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statistics on how many army pilots bought a secondhand plane andtried to start a charter airline on a shoestring? Most of them went outof business. They hadn’t the funds to keep the planes in propercondition. My husband died over twenty-five years ago and I’ve beenfighting ever since to bar those small planes from busy fields. AndI’ve always worked closely with the Airline Pilots Association totighten and maintain rigid standards for pilots.”No mention of George Graney, but once again the implied reasonfor Willard Jennings’ death. After all these years Abigail won’t stopunderscoring the blame for that accident, Pat thought. As she watchedherself on the screen, she realized that the documentary had turnedout exactly as she had planned it; it portrayed Abigail Jennings as asympathetic human being and a dedicated public servant. Therealization brought no satisfaction.The program ended with Abigail walking into her home in thenear-dark and Pat’s commentary that like so many single adults,Abigail was going home alone, and she would spend the evening ather desk studying proposed legislation.The screen went dark, and as the room brightened, they all stoodup. Pat watched for Abigail’s reaction. The Senator turned to Toby.He nodded approvingly, and with a relaxed smile Abigail pronouncedthe program a success.She glanced at Pat. “In spite of all the problems, you’ve done avery good job. And you were right about using my early background.I’m sorry I gave you so much grief. Luther, what do you think?”“I think you come across terrific. Pat, what’s your feeling?”Pat considered. They were all satisfied, and the ending wastechnically all right. Then what was it that was forcing her to pressfor an additional scene? The letter. She wanted to read the letter Abigailhad written to Willard Jennings. “I have one problem,” she said. “Thepersonal aspects of this program are what make it special. I wish wehadn’t ended on a business note.”Abigail raised her eyes impatiently. Toby frowned. The atmospherein the room suddenly became strained. The projectionist’s voice cameover the loudspeaker. “Is that a wrap?”“No. Run the last scene again,” Luther snapped.The room darkened and an instant later the dosing two minutes ofthe program were replayed.

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They all watched intently. Luther was the first to comment. “Wecan leave it, but I think Pat may be right.”“That’s wonderful,” Abigail said. “What are you going to do aboutit? I’ve got to be at the White House in a few hours and I don’t intendto arrive there at the last second.”Can I get her to go along with me? Pat wondered. For some reasonshe desperately wanted to read the “Billy darling” letter and she wantedthe Senator’s spontaneous reaction to it. But Abigail had insisted onseeing every inch of the storyboard before they taped. Pat tried tosound casual. “Senator, you’ve been very generous in opening yourpersonal files to us. In the last batch Toby brought over I found aletter that might just give the final personal touch we want. Of courseyou can read it before we tape, but I think it would have a morenatural quality if you don’t. In any case, if it doesn’t work, we’ll gowith the present close.”Abigail’s eyes narrowed. She looked at Luther. “Have you readthis letter?”“Yes, I have. I agree with Pat. But it’s up to you.”She turned to Philip and Toby. “You two went over everythingyou released for possible use on the program?”“Everything, Senator.”She shrugged. “In that case . . . Just make sure you don’t read aletter from someone saying she was Miss Apple Junction the yearafter me.”They all laughed. There is something changed about her, Patthought. She’s surer of herself.“We’ll shoot in ten minutes,” Luther said.Pat hurried into the dressing room. She dabbed fresh powder onthe beads of perspiration that had formed on her forehead. What isthe matter with me? she asked herself fiercely.The door opened and Abigail came in. She opened her purse andpulled out a compact. “Pat, that program is pretty good, isn’t it?”“Yes, it is.”“I was so against it. I had such a bad feeling about it. You’ve donea great job making me look like a pretty nice person.” She smiled.“Seeing the tape, I liked myself better than I have in a long time.”“I’m glad.” Here again was the woman she had admired so much.

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A few minutes later they were back on the set. With her hand, Patwas covering the letter she was about to read. Luther began to speak.“Senator, we want to thank you for sharing your time with us in thisvery personal way. What you have accomplished is certainly aninspiration to everyone and surely an example of how good can comefrom tragedy. When we were planning this program, you gave usmany of your private papers. Among them we found a letter you wroteto your husband, Congressman Willard Jennings. I think this lettersums up the young woman you were and the woman you became.May I allow Pat to read it to you now?”Abigail tilted her head, her expression questioning.Pat unfolded the letter. Her voice husky, she read it slowly. “Billy,darling.” Her throat tightened. She had to force herself to go on. Againher mouth was hopelessly dry. She glanced up. Abigail was staring ather, the color draining from her face. “You were splendid in thehearings this afternoon. I am so proud of you. I love you so and lookforward to a lifetime of being with you, of working with you. Oh, mydearest, we really are going to make a difference in this world.”Luther interjected, “That note was written on May thirteenth, andon May twentieth Congressman Willard Jennings died and you wenton alone to make a difference in this world. Senator Abigail Jennings,thank you.”The Senator ’s eyes were shining. A tender half-smile played at thecorners of her mouth. She nodded and her lips formed the words“Thank you.”“Cut,” the director called.Luther jumped up. “Senator; that was perfect. Everybody will . . .”He stopped in mid-sentence as Abigail lunged forward and grabbedthe letter from Pat’s hand. “Where did you
get
that?” she shrieked.“What are you trying to
do
to me?”“Senator, I told you, we don’t have to use it,” Luther protested.Pat stared as Abigail’s face twisted into a mask of anger and pain.Where had she seen that expression, on
that
face, once before?A bulky figure rushed past her. Toby was shaking the Senator,almost shouting at her: “Abby, get hold of yourself. That was a greatway to end the program.
Abby, it’s okay to let people know aboutyour last letter to your husband
.”

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“My . . . last . . . letter?” Abigail raised one hand to cover her faceas though she were trying to remold her expression. “Of course . . .I’m sorry . . . It’s just that Willard and I used to write little notes toeach other all the time. . . . I’m so glad you found—the last one. . . .”Pat sat immobilized. “Billy darling, Billy darling . . .” The wordshad a drumroll cadence, hammering in her mind. Gripping the armsof the chair, she looked up and met Toby’s savage stare. She shrankback in mindless terror.He turned back to Abigail and, with Luther and Phil assisting,escorted her from the studio. One by one the floodlights were turnedoff. “Hey, Pat,” the cameraman called. “That’s a wrap, isn’t it?”At last she was able to get up. “It’s a wrap,” she agreed.

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Whenever Sam was wrestling with a problem, a long walk had a wayof clearing his head and helping him think. That was why he elected towalk the several miles from his apartment to the Southwest section ofthe District. The Gangplank Restaurant was on the Washington Channel,and as he neared it, he studied the restless pattern of the whitecaps.Cape Cod. Nauset Beach. Pat walking beside him, her hair tossedby the wind, her arm tucked in his, the incredible sense of freedom,as though it were just the two of them and sky and beach and ocean.Next summer we’ll go back, he promised himself.The restaurant resembled a ship moored to the dock. He hurriedup the gangplank, enjoying the faint undulating feeling.Jack Carlson was already seated at a window table. Several crushedcigarettes were in the ashtray in front of him, and he was sipping aPerrier. Sam apologized for being late.“I’m early,” Jack said simply. He was a trim, gray-haired manwith bright, inquisitive eyes. He and Sam had been friends for morethan twenty years.Sam ordered a gin martini. “Maybe that will quiet me down orpick me up,” he explained with an attempt at a smile. He felt Jack’seyes studying him.“I’ve seen you looking more cheerful,” Jack commented. “Sam,what made you ask us to check on Toby Gorgone?”“Only a hunch.” Sam felt himself tense. “Did you come up withanything interesting?”“I’d say so.”“Hello, Sam.” Frank Crowley, his normally pale face ruddy fromthe cold, his heavy white hair somewhat disheveled, joined them. Heintroduced himself to Jack, adjusted his silver-rimmed glasses, opened

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his briefcase and pulled out a bulky envelope. “I’m lucky to be here,”he announced. “I started going through the trial transcript and almostforgot the time.” The waiter was at his elbow. “Vodka martini, verydry,” he ordered. “Sam, you seem to be the only one I know who canstill drink gin martinis.”Without waiting for a reply, he continued.
“United States
versus
Eleanor Brown.
Makes interesting reading and boils down to onesimple issue: which member of Senator Jennings’ official family waslying, Eleanor or Toby? Eleanor took the stand in her own defense. Abig mistake. She started talking about the shoplifting connection andthe prosecutor blew it up until you’d think she’d robbed Fort Knox.The Senator ’s testimony didn’t help any. She talked too damn muchabout giving Eleanor a second chance. I’ve marked the most relevantpages.” He handed Carlson the transcript.Jack took an envelope from his pocket. “Here’s the fact sheet youwanted on Gorgone, Sam.”Sam skimmed it, raised his eyebrows and reread it carefully.

Apple Junction: Suspect in car theft. Police chaseresulted in death of three. No indictment.

Apple Junction: Suspect in bookmaking operation. Noindictment.

BOOK: Stillwatch

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