Then, like politics, TV news and other fields of human endeavor, their relationship had acquired a life of its own.
Chapter 22
He didn’t know how many more Saturday nights he could stand to spend with her and yet he didn’t know how to break things off. He needed her. Having Yelena as his ally was as essential now as it had been all along.
Just last night as they lay together, she’d told him of the call she had gotten from the corporate office. The chairman of KEY had a thing for Eliza Blake. He loved the way she had come across the night of Bill’s death. The public was crazy about her, too. Viewers were asking for more of her.
“What about the Mole article, isn’t that hurting her?
“Well, it’s pretty hard to ignore. The powers that be are watching to see how it plays out with the public. In our business, perception is reality.”
The early morning light seeped from the crack at the side of the window shade. Pete looked at Yelena sleeping beside him. Everything about her was bothering him now. At least during the day, with her makeup on, she was more appealing. Now she looked washed out and tired. Her body was soft, but it held no comfort for him. The hysterectomy scar on her loose abdomen was, to his mind, another turn-off.
His mind switched gears. No wonder the chairman was gaga for Eliza Blake. She was young and firm and beautiful. Too bad she was such a threat.
Maybe he had to turn up the heat a little more.
Chapter 23
When Mack asked her if she and Janie would like to go out for brunch on Sunday, Eliza suggested Tavern on the Green. Even though it was one of the top tourist stops in New York City, Eliza unabashedly loved the restaurant. It was a place where the eye was deluged with pleasures. If the food didn’t quite live up to expectations, it didn’t matter. It was beautiful and just noisy enough to bring kids.
They were seated in the Crystal Room next to a large window looking out at the garden filled with banks of pink and white azaleas that blazed in the May sun. As the white-jacketed waiter placed tall Bloody Marys in front of Mack and Eliza and a Shirley Temple with double cherries in front of Janie, it was Mack who began to reminisce.
“I remember the first time I came here. It was September 1976, and Warner Leroy had just redone the whole place. I had been at KEY for about two weeks in my first job out of college, a desk assistant working the four to midnight shift on the TV assignment desk. You know, a real entry-level job, answering phones, distributing wire copy in the days before computers, doing some errands. Anyway, one night an assignment editor on the radio side organized a group of newsroom people to come over here after work.”
Mack stirred his drink with its celery stalk and smiled. “When we walked in, there was a huge sheet cake. It must have been sixteen feet long. On top of the cake, in icing, was an intricate replica of Central Park. I’ll never forget it. It was all there, the skating rink, the children’s zoo, the carriage drives, the boating pond, Belvedere Castle, the Obelisk—even little miniatures of the Alice in Wonderland and Hans Christian Andersen statues. I was fascinated by the artistry of it and by the magical quality of this place.”
Mack went on, acquainting her with facts about Central Park, the backdrop for Tavern on the Green. The 840-acre masterpiece in the middle of New York City was larger than the principality of Monaco. The Sheep Meadow had real sheep grazing on it in the days before it was used for big concerts. The sheepfold became Tavern on the Green.
Mack looked up at the Baccarat and Waterford chandeliers. “Did you know that those two over there came from the Jaipur palace of the hemp king of India?”
“Why, no!” Eliza answered in mock seriousness.
“Okay, okay, I’ll stop with the guided tour.” Mack grinned sheepishly. “How ya doin’, kiddo?” He smiled down at Janie, who was happily licking the first cherry off the plastic swizzle stick. The four-year-old nodded in approval.
Eliza’s gaze wandered to the fantasy mural of colorful birds, flowers and butterflies. Her eyes traveled up to the molded plaster ceiling, hand-tinted in shades of light mint green, birthday-candle pink and the palest yellow.
“I’m glad we came. It’s good to get away, even if we haven’t left the city.” She sighed. As whimsical as this place was, it seemed a lot more real than the events of the past week.
“I know a joke,” Janie volunteered.
“Good. Let’s hear it,” said Mack.
“Knock, knock.”
Mack played along. “Who’s there?”
“Annie.”
“Annie who?”
“Annie body ready to eat?” Janie giggled, quite pleased with herself.
“Janie!” the adults laughed approvingly.
Plates of eggs benedict for Eliza and Mack and a hamburger with french fries for Janie were presented on the silk-screened tablecloth. For a time, they ate in a comfortable silence that Mack finally broke.
“You know what I remember most about that first night here? I remember feeling so privileged. Here I was, a kid straight out of a state school, and I was working for KEY News and coming to a place like this. I was awed by it all. I must admit, I still am sometimes.” Mack paused, studying the flowers on the tablecloth. “KEY without Bill Kendall. It’s hard to imagine.” In a whisper Janie wouldn’t hear, he said, “And he did it to himself.” Mack continued, “But as the saying goes, no one is indispensable and KEY will go on without him. KEY has already gone on.” Mack took a large drink of his Bloody Mary.
Eliza filled Janie’s request for more ketchup, spooning it all over her fries. If there was such an animal as a sentimental realist, Eliza thought the description fit Mack McBride. He had worked his way up through the ranks exclusively at KEY, an unlikely scenario for an on-air type at the network. Nowadays, most correspondents had honed their television skills at smaller markets before making the jump to network news. Others had come from the radio side, writing and reporting the news hourlies on the KEY Radio Network until, rarely, an offer to try out on television came their way. Mack, instead, had worked himself up the editorial ladder always in television. After his stint as a TV desk assistant, then broadcast associate, assistant producer, assignment editor, associate producer. After he had been writing the scripts while acting as a producer on pieces that the correspondents voiced and signed off with their own names, Mack had decided that he wanted to be the one doing the reporting. Through some wrangling, a lot of hard work and some patience, he had reached his goal. Mack McBride had been a KEY correspondent for eight years and he had made a solid name for himself.
Eliza watched Mack as he read the dessert menu to Janie. As the two debated the merits of chocolate fudge cake and ice cream sundaes, Eliza considered that Mack was the first man she had felt really good about since John’s death. Yes, she’d gone out on dates, but she’d always been forcing herself, urged on by well-meaning friends. But with so much time taken up by work, Eliza was content to spend her off hours with Janie. Besides, she didn’t want to fall in love with anyone else again.
“You know what I just don’t get?” Eliza swallowed the last of her coffee and was conscious of Janie sitting beside her. “How could Bill have done that, knowing that William would find him?”
“That’s just it,” Mack said. “He didn’t know. According to Louise Kendall, William’s visit was totally unexpected. Apparently, he had been making such good progress in the self-sufficiency department that without consulting his mother or his counselor, he had decided to make his first journey alone from New Jersey to New York. He planned to surprise his father. Instead, well, William got the surprise.”
Eliza thought about William bravely concentrating on making the trip, taking the right bus into the Port Authority, going out to the street to hail a cab and give proper destination instructions to the driver. Not terribly difficult for most people. For young William Kendall, a major undertaking. And when he proudly arrived and let himself into his father’s townhouse to have found his dad that way . . . how cruel!
&n
bsp; Eliza reached over and wiped the red rim around her daughter’s mouth with her napkin. She noticed that two of the three rabbits appliquéd on the front of Janie’s yellow pinafore were now wearing ketchup coats. Janie was noticing the mess, too. “Mommy . . .” She pointed to the offending bunnies, her eyes brimming. Eliza could see the beginning of an upset. Janie was already showing signs of being a perfectionist.
“Don’t worry, sweetheart. We’ll wash that out as soon as we get home.”
It was so easy to satisfy the child. Or maybe Janie was just very willing to be satisfied. Whichever it was, Eliza was suddenly profoundly thankful that she was sitting beside a healthy little girl whose biggest problem at the moment was a dirty dress.
After brunch, they stepped into the early afternoon sunshine.
“Walk or ride?” Mack gestured toward a hansom cab.
“As much as I love those horse and buggy rides, I think I’d rather walk. We need some exercise and fresh air. And today, I think you could almost call it fresh.”
The three made a handsome picture as they walked through the park with hundreds of other New Yorkers enjoying the May Sunday. Some strolled, some jogged, some rode bikes, some rollerbladed, purposeful even in their pursuit of leisure time. Eliza and Mack admired the detailed stonework of Playmate’s Arch, appreciated the Victorian lampposts embraced by budding pink and white magnolias, smiled at lovers walking hand in hand. Janie was intrigued by the spinning pinwheel Mack bought her from a vendor. Some heads turned and a few people whispered to one another and smiled as they recognized Eliza.
She hated what she was thinking. She turned to Mack.
“Do you think they’ve all seen it?”
“Who’s ‘they’ and what’s ‘it’?”
“These people,” Eliza made a sweeping gesture. “Do you think they’ve seen The Mole?”
“I wasn’t going to bring it up, but now that you have, yes, some of them have seen it or heard about it. But I’d wager that most paid little or no attention. People are more concerned with what’s happening in their own lives than with what they read about somebody else’s in a scandal sheet. Try not to worry about this, Eliza.”
“Easy for you to say.”
“You’re right. It is easy for me to say. But I happen to believe it.”
Eliza considered his words. “You’re probably right. I hope you’re right. It really bugs me, though. I keep wondering who the KEY News source was who so nobly proclaimed that, quote, the public depends on the mental stability of those entrusted with reporting the news, end quote. That backstabber threw my ability to do my job into question! What a low blow! Can you imagine anyone being that vicious?”
“Yes, Pollyanna, I can.”
Eliza ignored him, continuing on. “I’m going to find out who is behind that article. I’ve already called The Mole, but of course they won’t reveal their source. Journalistic privilege and all that. But don’t worry, I’m going to find out who did this.”
Mack couldn’t help but grin. “I have no doubt.”
Eliza smiled back, the first genuine smile of the past several days. “Forget it. Let’s not waste this glorious day!”
They continued on their way deeper into the park. Mack turned to Eliza. “Okay, where does ‘Eliza’ come from? A family name?”
Eliza looked at him, a half smile on her lips. “Ready? The first Broadway show my mother ever saw was My Fair Lady. She vowed that if she ever had a little girl, she’d name her Eliza. How do you like that?”
“On you, it somehow fits.”
“It gets better. Guess what the middle name is?”
“What was the Professor’s name . . . ‘Higgins’?”
“Funny, very funny. Nope. Scarlett.”
“She was a Gone with the Wind freak, too?”
“You got it.”
They laughed.
“And Blake? Is that your real last name?”
Mack watched Eliza’s happy grin fade and he thought he saw her blue eyes cloud over. The Eliza that America saw every morning was beautiful, bright and in control. The Eliza that he stood with in Central Park today was beautiful, bright and vulnerable.
“Blake is my married name. I was already using Blake professionally when John died. My maiden name was Gallagher.”
Though tempted to ask more about the marriage, Mack sensed that Eliza was not interested in talking about it at that moment. She was watching Janie hop up and down, pointing excitedly to the jumbo merry-go-round up ahead.
“You game?” Mack asked when they reached the carousel.
“Why not?”
As the three of them rode up and down on the gaily painted horses, Eliza Scarlett Gallagher Blake closed her eyes and felt the refreshing spring breeze blow across her face. It felt good. She thought of Bill, still unbelieving that the man she had admired so much would have taken his own life. She wished she had reached out to him more, wondered if it would have made any difference. But she hadn’t even had any idea that anything was really wrong. Bill’s suicide was so sad, such a waste of a wonderful human being. His death squeezed her heart and she wagered that just about everyone who knew Bill felt bruised.
Eliza looked over at her glowing, healthy Janie gleefully riding her wooden horse with the flowing mane and the big white teeth. She was more keenly aware than ever of the fragility of life and was extremely grateful to be there, with her precious little girl, alive.
Chapter 24
Daddy.
William had a sad feeling when he thought of his dad. He missed his father. Mom said today was Dad’s funeral.
William went to his dresser, opened the top drawer and began rummaging through the computer diskettes inside until he found the one he was looking for.
He turned on his computer, and put the diskette in the opening where it was supposed to go, and pushed the buttons he knew he had to push to make the letter appear on the screen.
Dear William,
You are a very good person.
You are a very good son.
I am very proud of you.
I am proud of the way you always try so hard.
I am sorry to leave you.
Keep doing a good job.
I love you very much and I always will, even in
heaven.
DAD.
P.S. And remember, William, an elephant never forgets.
He had known all of the words. He knew that heaven was the place people went after they died. Daddy was there now. It made William feel a little better to know where his father was and that he still loved him.
Chapter 25
The black limousine carrying Louise Kendall, her son William and Range Bullock pulled up into the brick yard in front of Newark’s Cathedral of the Sacred Heart. Louise’s first awareness was of the crowds gathered outside. Police barricades had been erected to cordon off the inquisitive onlookers. Television news crews pointed their cameras in the direction of the limousine carrying Bill Kendall’s ex-wife and son.
The limousine door opened and the three alighted. Louise adjusted her sunglasses, grateful for the protection against the bright sun and the penetrating stares of the curious spectators. She looked up toward the soaring granite towers. Their carved, gargoyled spires loomed imposingly. Turning to Range, she declared, “It’s breathtaking! It’s amazing something like this exists in Newark.”
It took fifty-six years to build the cathedral. Upon its completion, a group of renowned architects had put their heads together and declared the Cathedral of the Sacred Heart to be the most perfect expression of the French Gothic in the western hemisphere. The cathedral itself covered an area of forty thousand square feet, an area almost equal to that of London’s famed Westminster Abbey. Its towers were higher than Notre Dame in Paris. The Cathedral of the Sacred Heart was a world-class cathedral, but until Pope John Paul II’s visit, the world hadn’t known about it. So taken with its splendor, the pontiff granted it the special title “cathedral basilica,” to acknowledge its rank among
Christendom’s greatest churches.
At the massive bronze front doors, a flock of clergymen in white vestments waited to welcome the physical remains of Bill Kendall and commend his spirit to God. The turnout of the religious was impressive. Louise recognized Thomas Gleason, the cardinal archbishop of New York, resplendent in his red cassock, white lace rochet and red mozzetta. On his head was a simple red skullcap.
Next to the cardinal stood another man, smaller in stature, wearing a white chasuble trimmed in black and gold, and a high white arch of the miter, the official headdress of a bishop in the Roman Catholic Church. Obviously in charge, the archbishop of Newark stepped forward and extended his hand to Louise. “Mrs. Kendall, I am Theodore Sweeney.” He smiled sympathetically and murmured a few words about what a wonderful man Bill had been. Archbishop Sweeney turned toward William, reached out and put his right hand on the young man’s shoulder.
Louise looked at their son. William was running his fingers under the collar of his shirt, uncomfortable in his tie. Poor kid. Maybe she had made a mistake in having him come today. She was having a difficult time being here. How the hell would William process the elaborate ritual?
Classified as functioning mentally only as a nine- or ten-year-old, William sometimes amazed his parents with a special insight or observation. Louise was convinced that William’s brain itself was strong. It was his connective ability that was weak. People with Fragile X lacked a protein essential for making connections. Researchers were trying to figure out the protein. She prayed that someday there would be a manufactured protein for her son, like insulin for a diabetic. Gene therapy was also very promising. For now, though, the Ritalin he had been taking helped him focus a bit better.
So far, his eyes didn’t have that panicked, overwhelmed look. Louise summoned up her trusty inner voice which told her again that she couldn’t control what her son would do, she could only deal with whatever came.
Do You Want to Know a Secret? Page 8
