Welcome to the World, Baby Girl! (13 page)

Dena had been back from lunch a few minutes when Sidney Capello, without knocking, walked in her office and went over and flopped down as if he belonged there. Dena looked at him with the same revulsion as if a snake had suddenly crawled into her office and curled up on her red leather couch.

Capello did not bother to look at her. “Ira wants you to run your questions by me, make sure you get it right.” His eyes darted around the room as if he were looking for flying insects. “You know, the knocked-up preacher’s wife. He wants us to work together.”

Dena stood up. “Oh, no. You and I are not working together on anything, you creep.”

Capello’s eyes darted in her direction. “Hey, I don’t have to take any lip off any bimbo. You don’t want to work with me, that’s your problem, sister.”

Dena did not hear the last sentence; she was storming down the hall. She barged into Wallace’s office. “Did you tell that slimebag he could work with me?”

Wallace was, as usual, on the phone and looked at her. He put his hand up and motioned for her to sit down. Dena sat down and waited. She was so mad her stomach started to hurt again. She took some deep breaths, trying to cool off. Wallace put the phone down. “Now, which slimebag are you talking about?”

“Sidney Capello.” Dena tried to remain calm. “Did you tell him he could work with me?”

Wallace seemed puzzled that there was a problem. “Yeah, so? I told you—I had to make him associate producer.”

“Ira, you may be able to be in the same room with him but I can’t. It’s bad enough I have to work with those other two cretins you call researchers but this guy is disgusting.”

“All right, whatever. I thought he could help you out, that’s all. You two have a personality problem, OK, no big deal. We can work it out, problem solved. Anything else?”

“How can you trust him, Ira? He may be lying about the Hamilton piece. He could have made it up.”

“He ain’t lying. We double checked. He may be a slimebag, but he’s an expert slimebag. You may not like what he comes up with but he’s the best. Trust him? Please, he’d sell his grandmother for fish bait if he thought he could make a dime, but that don’t mean he ain’t good.”

“How can you work with somebody you don’t trust? I don’t understand.”

“Hey! What’s trust got to do with work? This ain’t no popularity contest we’re in; you don’t have to trust someone to do business.”

“Well, maybe you don’t, but I do, and I just don’t feel right about asking that question.”

“Not that again. You know, kid, you disappoint me, as hard as I worked for this. And you, angling for a permanent network shot.”

“I know, Ira, but I know Peggy Hamilton and she trusts me, and her husband does, too. That’s how I got the interview in the first place.”

“Let me ask you something. She knows what kind of business you’re in, right?”

“Yes, but …”

“So business is business. They know that. Why are they doing the
interview in the first place? To hustle money, right? They know the score. You’re just doing your job, they use you, you use them, business. Come on, you know better than this. You start thinking like a sap, you’re gonna have your hat handed to you and be on the first bus back to Hicksville Springs.”

Dena flinched. Wallace checked his watch and leaned back in his chair. “Let me tell you a little story. My grandfather came to this country, didn’t have a dime. He had to hustle on the streets all his life. He sold buttons from door to door; he worked eighteen, nineteen hours a day. But when he died he had saved fifteen thousand dollars and he paid my way through NYU. Do you know how many buttons he had to sell? One day I was four years old, he took me in the kitchen and stood me up on a chair. He held out his arms to me and said, ‘Jump.’ I was scared. He said, ‘Come on, jump. I’ll catch you.’ I still didn’t jump. He says, ‘What’s the matter, don’t you trust me? I’m your grandfather.’ So I jumped—and
wham
, I hit the floor, flat on my kisser. He looks down at me and he says, ‘That’s your first lesson in business, boy. Don’t ever trust nobody. Not even me, don’t ever forget it.” Wallace almost had tears in his eyes. “God, I loved that man and I’ll tell you something else. I never forgot it.”

“That’s the difference between you and me, Ira,” Dena said. “When I was little my grandfather did the same thing to me—only he caught me.”

Wallace said, “Yeah, well, don’t kid yourself. He didn’t do you no favor.”

Dena sat in her living room at four-thirty Saturday morning eating a plate of Stouffer’s frozen macaroni and cheese. She had been up all night struggling with herself about the Hamilton piece, going back and forth trying to figure out what to do. Making a decision about her career had never been hard for her. In the past she had always been crystal clear about her goal and had kept her eye on it even if it had meant leaving people in the dust. She had quit jobs overnight to take a better one and never looked back. But this was different. There was something about this interview that made her deeply uneasy, scared her, even. It didn’t have anything to do with religion or because she thought the Hamiltons would hate her; she could always lie and say that her producers had told her that everyone knew about the first child. It was something else she could not put her finger on. Was she afraid that if she crossed the Hamiltons she would never be able to get an interview or be accepted by the right people again? Or was it simply because Peggy Hamilton was a woman and seemed so vulnerable, so defenseless? Was it because she had loathed Sidney Capello on sight? Why did she feel so threatened? She went into the bathroom and turned on the light and glanced up at herself in the mirror and was startled at what she saw. For a split second it could have been her mother’s face looking back at her.

At eight she picked up the phone. The Hamiltons’ youngest son answered and went to get his mother. Peggy Hamilton came to the phone right away with a cheerful, warm “Hello.”

“Mrs. Hamilton, it’s Dena Nordstrom.”

“Well, hello again.”

“Mrs. Hamilton, listen, about the interview. Would it be possible for us to meet, just you and I? It’s really important. I need to talk to you.”

“Of course. Come on over anytime. Or should I come to your office on Monday?”

“No, it would be better if we met somewhere else before then.”

Dena had suggested Laurent on Fifty-sixth because it was a lovely, old-world place and she was positive Ira or anyone Ira knew would not be there. That afternoon, she showed up at the restaurant ten minutes early and asked for a table in the back. Dena had on a scarf and sunglasses, feeling as if she were in a bad Joan Crawford movie. At ten minutes after four, she was a nervous wreck, had already smoked half a pack of cigarettes, and had put away two screwdrivers, when Peggy Hamilton came in. She smiled.

“Oh, there you are. I almost didn’t recognize you in those sunglasses. Sorry I’m late. Will you forgive me?”

“Of course, I just got here myself. Would you like a drink … or tea or coffee? I’m having a drink.”

“I guess I’ll just have a cup of tea.”

Dena called the waiter over and ordered the tea and another drink for herself. Her hands were shaking as she tried to light another cigarette.

“Are you all right? Is there something bothering you? You sounded a little upset on the phone.”

Dena had just lit the filter end of her cigarette.

“Well, yes, there is. I think I really don’t know how to ask you this, it’s sort of personal. Well, actually, it’s very personal but …”

Peggy Hamilton waited, but Dena, who had rehearsed the speech twenty times, suddenly got cold feet.

“I know we don’t know each other well, but … I felt that, oh God, I don’t know if I can …”

The older woman reached over and took her hand. “Dena, whatever is bothering you, it is always good if you just talk to someone, and you know anything you say will be confidential. You know you can trust me, don’t you?”

After the waiter had gone, Dena was still debating whether or not to go through with it.

“If I can help you with something, I’ll be happy to try. You know Charles and I think the world of you.”

Dena said, “That’s the trouble. Oh, Jesus—excuse me—but this is harder than I thought it was going to be.” She stopped. “Uh … well, the thing is … it’s not about me, it’s about you.”

“Me?”

“Yes. But first of all, I want you to know that I didn’t know about this until yesterday. But … when we do an interview, sometimes the people on staff do some research to help with questions and all, and … I don’t trust this guy that my boss hired, so I need to know if it is true or not, or, if there is some sort of mistake, well, I need to know.”

“What is it?”

“My boss wants me to ask you about the fact that you … or at least they think you might have … had a baby before you married.”

One look at the fear in Peggy Hamilton’s eyes and Dena knew the answer. The color drained out of her face.

“Oh, God, Peggy, I was hoping they were wrong. I am so sorry, if you only knew, I wasn’t even supposed to ask you about this until we got on the air. But I just couldn’t.”

“How did you find out?”

“It wasn’t me, Peggy, I promise you. Some lowlife that does this kind of thing went to your hometown in Kentucky, started asking questions, trying to find some dirt on you two, and found this guy who claims to be the father and was willing to swear to it.”

Peggy Hamilton was devastated. “Why, why would he tell anybody that now, why after all these years?”

“Maybe he thought he could get something out of it. Maybe it’s his one chance at fame, maybe he was promised he could get on television. People do this kind of thing.”

“I see.”

“Does Charles
know
about this?”

“Yes. It’s my daughter who doesn’t know.” She looked at Dena. “I don’t understand. Why would they want to ask me about this?”

“Oh, Peggy, I don’t know.” Dena shook her head. “It’s part of the business, I guess, to try and come up with something that might shock people. It’s not just you. It’s … oh, hell, it’s because they want ratings. It’s as simple as that. I feel just like a low-down, dirty dog, but all I can do is warn you, and if I don’t ask you about it, it probably will come out one way or another. Once it’s out they use it.”

“You know, it’s funny. I was always terrified that one day it would come out. I worried about it for years and now that it has, I just feel numb. I never dreamed it would happen like this. I think I will have that drink, if you don’t mind.”

Dena said, “Oh, please, me too, I need another.” She motioned for the waiter to bring two more and pushed her drink over to Peggy Hamilton, who sipped it. Now it was her hands that were shaking.

“Peggy, I am so sorry, believe me, I tried my best to talk them out of it but I couldn’t. I’m just supposed to ask the questions. I could kill Ira. It wasn’t even supposed to be about you. They tried to find some scandal about Charles, but this is what they came up with.”

“I see. Well, I wonder where we go from here.”

“Tell me, what happened, what were the circumstances? How did you manage to keep it quiet for this long?”

“I was barely fifteen, and he was twenty-three. I was so stupid. I didn’t know anything about sex. I was one of eight children and I guess I was flattered by the attention he gave me. Probably I was starved for affection. He was my uncle. He told me he loved me and that I was special, and the next thing I knew … It only happened once, but about a month later, I started to get sick and I had no idea what was the matter with me. The doctor came and told my father I was pregnant. I know it’s hard to believe now, but we were a pretty religious family and we never talked about things like that.” Her voice trailed off. “What makes this so strange is he always denied it, he said it had not been him, that I was lying. And they believed him and sent me to live with my mother’s sister. I had the baby, and the
next day she was gone, and there hasn’t been a day since that I haven’t wondered about her, wondered if she was all right. If she was happy. But I signed a paper, I gave up my rights. You don’t know how hard it has been not to try and find her, but I couldn’t do that to her, expose her. And now this.”

She looked into the distance. “If he hurts my daughter, I don’t know how I will ever be able to forgive him.”

Dena was suddenly upset again. “Forgive him? I don’t think you understand. This is serious. Your whole life could blow up. All the great work you and Charles have done. You should be furious!”

“Oh, believe me,” Peggy said, “I am furious and I am scared to death, but I don’t know what I can do about it.”

Dena announced, in a voice laced with vodka and false courage, “Well, I can do something about it, by God. I’ll quit, that’s all. I’ll tell them if they pursue this, I’ll quit. I’ll probably get fired anyway if they find out I told you. So I’ll just walk in there Monday morning and quit.”

“No, you can’t do that, Dena. You said it would come out sooner or later anyway.”

“Well, not by me. And if it does, deny it. Say he’s lying. People will believe you and Charles over this dirtbag.”

“I can’t do that.”

“Think about it. This is going to ruin your lives. People put you two up on a pedestal. They are not going to care who you are trying to protect. All they are going to care about is that you had a baby when you weren’t married and hid it. You think people are going to forgive you? You can’t let your life be ruined over one mistake that happened over twenty years ago.”

Dena touched her arm. “Listen to me, Peggy: cancel the damn interview. Say you’re sick, say your mother is dying, say you’re dying … anything, just don’t do it. Hire a hit man, I don’t care, but do something. It’s nobody’s business anyway. They’re not playing fair. Why should you? Peggy, don’t be an idiot, you don’t have to be honest with these people. Jesus Christ himself would lie over something like this!”

“I have to talk to Charles. I don’t know what to do.”

“I’m telling you what to do. Lie.”

“But it’s the truth.”

“Then say you were raped.”