The Best Laid Plans (16 page)

He took her hand, and it was moist. It's a sign, Oliver thought. But of what? Nervousness? Anger? Old memories? "I'm so glad you came, Leslie." "Yes. I am, too." "We'll talk later." Her smile warmed him. "Yes."

Two tables away from where Oliver was seated was a group of Arab diplomats. One of them, a swarthy man with sharply etched features and dark eyes, seemed to be staring intently at Oliver.

Oliver leaned over to Peter Tager and nodded toward the Arab. "Who's that?"

Tager took a quick look. "Ali al-Fulani. He's the secretary at one of the United Arab Emirates. Why do you ask?"

"No reason." Oliver looked again. The man's eyes were still focused on him.

Oliver spent the evening working the room, making his guests feel comfortable. Sylva was at one table, Leslie at another. It was not until the evening was almost over that Oliver managed to get Leslie alone for a moment. "We need to talk. I have a lot to tell you. Can we meet somewhere?"

There was the faintest hesitation in her voice. "Oliver, perhaps it would be better if we didn't "

"I have a house in Manassas, Virginia, about an hour out of Washington Will you meet me there?"

She looked into his eyes. This time there was no hesitation. "If you want me to."

Oliver described the location of the house. "Tomorrow night at eight?"

Leslie's voice was husky. "I'll be there."

At a National Security Council meeting the following morning, Director of Central Intelligence James Frisch dropped a bombshell. "Mr President, we received word this morning that Libya is buying a variety of atomic weapons from Iran and China. There's a strong rumor that they're going to be used to attack Israel. It will take a day or two to get a confirmation." Lou Werner, the secretary of state, said, "I don't think we should wait. Let's protest now, in the strongest possible terms." Oliver said to Werner, "See what additional information you can get." The meeting lasted all morning. From time to time, Oliver found himself thinking about the rendezvous with Leslie. "Charm her, my boy.... You've got to win her over."

On Saturday evening, Oliver was in one of the White House staff cars, driven by a trusted Secret Service agent, heading for Manassas, Virginia. He was strongly tempted to cancel the rendezvous, but it was too late. I'm worrying for no reason. She probably won't even show up.

At eight o'clock, Oliver looked out the window and saw Leslie's car pull into the driveway of the senator's house. He watched her get out of the car and move toward the entrance. Oliver opened the front door The two of them stood there, silently staring at each other, and time disappeared and somehow it was as though they had never been apart Oliver was the first to find his voice. "My God! Last night when I saw you ... I had almost forgotten how beautiful you are." Oliver took Leslie's hand, and they walked into the living room. "What would you like to drink?" "I don't need anything. Thank you." Oliver sat down next to her on the couch. "I have to ask you something, Leslie. Do you hate me?" She shook her head slowly. "No. I thought I hated you." She smiled wryly. "In a way, I suppose that's the reason for my success." "I don't understand." "I wanted to get back at you, Oliver I bought newspapers and television stations so that I could attack you You're the only man I've ever loved. And when you when you deserted me, I I didn't think I could stand it." She was fighting back tears Oliver put his arm around her. "Leslie " And then his lips were on hers, and they were kissing passionately. "Oh, my God," she said. "I didn't expect this to happen." And they were in a fierce embrace, and he took her hand and led her into the bedroom. They began undressing each other. "Hurry, my darling," Leslie said. "Hurry..." And they were in bed, holding each other, their bodies touching, remembering Their lovemaking was gentle and fierce, as it had been in the beginning. And this was a new beginning. The two of them lay there, happy, spent. "It's so funny," Leslie said. "What?" "All those terrible things I published about you. I did it to get your attention." She snuggled closer. "And I did, didn't I?" He grinned "I'll say." Leslie sat up and looked at him. "I'm so proud of you, Oliver. The President of the United States." "I'm trying to be a damn good one. That's what's really important to me. I want to make a difference." Oliver looked at his watch. "I'm afraid I have to get back." "Of course. I'll let you leave first." "When am I going to see you again, Leslie?" "Anytime you want to." "We're going to have to be careful." "I know. We will be."

Leslie lay there, dreamily watching Oliver as he dressed.

When Oliver was ready to leave, he leaned over and said, "You're my miracle."

"And you're mine. You always have been."

He kissed her. "I'll call you tomorrow."

Oliver hurried out to the car and was driven back to Washington. The more things change, the more they stay the same, Oliver thought. I have to be careful never to hurt her again. He picked up the car telephone and dialed the number in Florida that Senator Davis had given him.

The senator answered the phone himself. "Hello."

"It's Oliver."

"Where are you?"

"On my way back to Washington. I just called to tell you some good news. We don't have to worry about that problem anymore. Everything is under control."

"I can't tell you how glad I am to hear that." There was a note of deep relief in Senator Davis's voice.

"I knew you would be, Todd."

The following morning, as Oliver was getting dressed, he picked up a copy of the Washington Tribune. On the front page was a photograph of Senator Davis's country home in Manassas The caption under it read:

PRESIDENT RUSSELL'S SECRET LOVE NEST.

Fourteen.

Oliver stared at the paper unbelievingly. How could she have done that? He thought about how passionate she had been in bed. And he had completely misread it. It was a passion filled with hate, not love There's no way I can ever stop her, Oliver thought despairingly.

Senator Todd Davis looked at the front-page story and was aghast. He understood the power of the press, and he knew how much this vendetta could cost him. I'll have to stop her myself, Senator Davis decided When he got to his Senate office, he telephoned Leslie. "It's been a long time," Senator Davis said warmly. "Too long. I think about you a lot, Miss Stewart."

"I think about you, too, Senator Davis. In a way, everything I have I owe to you." He chuckled. "Not at all. When you had a problem, I was happy to be able to assist you." "Is there something I can do for you, Senator?" "No, Miss Stewart. But there's something I'd like to do for you. I'm one of your faithful readers, you know, and I think the Tribune is a truly fine paper. I just realized that we haven't been doing any advertising in it, and I want to correct that. I'm involved in several large companies, and they do a lot of advertising. I mean a lot of advertising. I think that a good portion of that should go to a fine paper like the Tribune." "I'm delighted to hear that, Senator We can always use more advertising. Whom shall I have my advertising manager talk to?" "Well, before he talks to anyone, I think you and I should settle a little problem between us." "What's that?" Leslie asked. "It concerns President Russell." "Yes?" "This is a rather delicate matter, Miss Stewart. You said a few moments ago that you owed everything you have to me. Now I'm asking you to do me a little favor." "I'll be happy to, if I can." "In my own small way, I helped the president get elected to office." "I know."

"And he's doing a fine job. Of course, it makes it more difficult for him when he's attacked by a powerful newspaper like the Tribune every time he turns around."

"What are you asking me to do, Senator?"

"Well, I would greatly appreciate it if those attacks would stop."

"And in exchange for that, I can count on getting advertising from some of your companies."

"A great deal of advertising, Miss Stewart."

"Thank you, Senator. Why don't you call me back when you have something more to offer?"

And the line went dead.

In his office at the Washington Tribune, Matt Baker was reading the story about President Russell's secret love nest. "Who the hell authorized this?" he snapped at his assistant. "It came from the White Tower." "Goddammit. She's not running this paper, I am." Why the hell do I put up with her? he wondered, not for the first time Three hundred and fifty thousand dollars a year plus bonuses and stock options, he told himself wryly. Every time he was ready to quit, she seduced him with more money and more power. Besides, he had to admit to himself that it was fascinating working for one of the most powerful women in the world. There were things about her that he would never understand.

When she had first bought the Tribune, Leslie had said to Matt, "There's an astrologer I want you to hire. His name is Zoltaire."

"He's syndicated by our competition."

"I don't care. Hire him."

Later that day, Matt Baker told her, "I checked on Zoltaire. It would be too expensive to buy out his contract."

"Buy it."

The following week, Zoltaire, whose real name Matt learned was David Hayworth, came to work for the Washington Tribune. He was in his fifties, small and dark and intense.

Matt was puzzled. Leslie did not seem like the kind of woman who would have any interest in astrology. As far as he could see, there was no contact between Leslie and David Hay-worth.

What he did not know was that Hayworth went to visit Leslie at her home whenever she had an important decision to make.

On the first day, Matt had had Leslie's name put on the masthead: "Leslie Chambers, Publisher." She had glanced at it and said, "Change it. It's Leslie Stewart." The lady is on an ego trip, Matt had thought. But he was wrong. Leslie had decided to revert to her maiden name because she wanted Oliver Russell to know exactly who was responsible for what was going to happen to him.

The day after Leslie took over the newspaper, she said, "We're going to buy a health magazine." Matt looked at her curiously. "Why?

"Because the health field is exploding." She had proved to be right The magazine was an instant success. "We're going to start expanding, Leslie told Baker. "Let's get some people looking for publications overseas." "All right." "And there's too much fat around here. Get rid of the reporters who aren't pulling their weight." "Leslie " "I want young reporters who are hungry." When an executive position became open, Leslie insisted on being there for the interview. She would listen to the applicant, and then would ask one question: "What's your golf score?" The job would often depend on the answer. "What the hell kind of question is that?" Matt Baker asked the first time he heard it. "What difference does a golf score make?" "I don't want people here who are dedicated to golf. If they work here, they're going to be dedicated to the Washington Tribune."

Leslie Stewart's private life was a subject of endless discussions at the Tribune. She was a beautiful woman, unattached, and as far as anyone knew, she was not involved with any man and had no personal life. She was one of the capital's preeminent hostesses, and important people vied for an invitation to her dinner parties. But people speculated about what she did when all the guests had left and she was alone. There were rumors that she was an insomniac who spent the nights working, planning new projects for the Stewart empire.

There were other rumors, more titillating, but there was no way of proving them.

Leslie involved herself in everything: editorials, news stories, advertising. One day, she said to the head of the advertising department, "Why aren't we getting any ads from Glea-son's?" an upscale store in Georgetown.

"I've tried, but "

"I know the owner. I'll give him a call."

She called him and said, "Allan, you're not giving the Tribune any ads Why?"

He had laughed and said, "Leslie, your readers are our shoplifters."

Before Leslie went into a conference, she read up on everyone who would be there. She knew everyone's weaknesses and strengths, and she was a tough negotiator.

"Sometimes you can be too tough," Matt Baker warned her. "You have to leave them something, Leslie."

"Forget it. I believe in the scorched-earth policy."

In the course of the next year, Washington Tribune Enterprises acquired a newspaper and radio station in Australia, a television station in Denver, and a newspaper in Hammond, Indiana. Whenever there was a new acquisition, its employees were terrified of what was coming. Leslie's reputation for being ruthless was growing.

Leslie Stewart was intensely jealous of Katharine Graham.

"She's just lucky," Leslie said. "And she has the reputation of being a bitch."

Matt Baker was tempted to ask Leslie what she thought her own reputation was, but he decided not to.

One morning when Leslie arrived at her office, she found that someone had placed a small wooden block with two brass balls on her desk.

Matt Baker was upset. "I'm sorry," he said. "I'll take "

"No. Leave it."

"But "

"Leave it."

Matt Baker was having a conference in his office when Leslie's voice came on over the intercom. "Matt, come up here."

No "please," no "good morning." Jt's going to be a bad-hair day, Matt Baker thought grimly. The Ice Princess was in one of her moods "That's it for now," Matt said. He left his office and walked through the corridors, where hundreds of employees were busily at work. He took the elevator up to the White Tower and entered the sumptuous publisher's office. Half a dozen editors were already gathered in the room. Behind an enormous desk sat Leslie Stewart. She looked up as Matt Baker entered. "Let's get started." She had called an editorial meeting. Matt Baker remembered her saying, "You'll be running the newspaper. I'll keep my hands off." He should have known better. She had no business calling meetings like this. That was his job. On the other hand, she was the publisher and owner of the Washington Tribune, and she could damn well do anything she pleased. Matt Baker said, "I want to talk to you about the story about President Russell's love nest in Virginia." "There's nothing to talk about," Leslie said. She held up a copy of The Washington Post, their rival. "Have you seen this?