Do You Want to Know a Secret?

by Mary Jane Clark

  A middle-aged woman entered the chapel, walked up to the altar, knelt down and bowed her head. Another one. God, there were so many. Day after day they came, all with variations on a few basic themes. A death, sickness, estrangement from a loved one, economic worries, disappointment with the cards dealt, fear of the unknown. They came looking for strength, direction and peace of mind. Some found what they were looking for, others were too overwhelmed by their agony to find consolation.

  The priest’s thoughts turned to Bill Kendall. The letter from the attorney’s office had come today. One hundred thousand dollars! Father Alec smiled wryly, remembering one of their conversations.

  They had been sitting in his office. Kendall had admired an Italian tapestry hanging on the wall behind the desk.

  “Not bad. I’m glad to see the Church pays for the appropriate accouterments for a promising young cleric’s office.”

  Father Alec smiled sheepishly. “That doesn’t belong to the Church. It’s mine. I bought it when I was studying in Rome.”

  “What happened to poverty?”

  “That’s a common misconception. Not all priests take a vow of poverty. Obedience, yes. Celibacy, always. Poverty, no. I’ve got the outstanding Visa bills to prove it.”

  They had both laughed, mercifully forgetting for a few moments why they were sitting there.

  One hundred thousand dollars. That was damned generous of you, Bill. After reading his copy of the will, Father Alec knew well that Bill Kendall had been generous to quite a few people. In addition to Louise and William Kendall, he recognized the name of Range Bullock, having met him the day of the funeral. Bullock had been understandably preoccupied, barely acknowledging their introduction. Bullock would soon be a hundred thousand dollars richer also. So would Bill’s psychiatrist and his secretary.

  Father Alec considered what a compliment he had been paid, finding his name among Bill’s loved ones. The priest thought back to their many conversations, how Bill Kendall had been so open, so candid about his life. The priest noticed that one “particular” loved one’s name was missing from the bequests.

  But a dying man would never subject the woman he loved to such public scrutiny. The scandal to her husband would end his career.

  Did she know? Father Alec had tried to convince the anchorman to tell her. Had Bill told the wife of Senator Haines Wingard that he had AIDS?

  The troubled middle-aged woman got up from her knees and made the sign of the cross before turning from the altar. Father Alec looked up at her face. A definite survivor. But Father Alec was beginning to distrust his own instincts. After all, he had thought Bill Kendall to be a survivor, too.

  Chapter 47

  The messenger placed the flowers on Jean’s desk. It was the type of arrangement she had ordered on Bill’s behalf for other people many times. Though Jean was extremely practical and careful with her own salary checks, she did enjoy an extravagance once in a while. The white roses, lilies and lilacs in the beautifully woven basket qualified.

  Jean opened the small pale blue envelope that bore the mark of a well-known East Side florist. If anyone had been watching they would have seen the secretary’s eyebrows rise in surprise as she read the inscription on the card.

  “In appreciation. Range Bullock.”

  Range, though always courteous, hardly spoke to her. Of course he always said hello and asked politely how she was whenever he came to the office to see Bill, but unlike most of the people visiting Bill, Range hadn’t tried to engage her in conversation. Others went out of their way to make Jean a friend. They knew that being on the good side of the big man’s secretary was a smart place to be. Jean had always suspected that Range Bullock hadn’t cared if he was on her good side or not. He and Bill were tight and Range was secure in that knowledge.

  Jean closed her eyes and inhaled deeply the fragrance of the flowers. He couldn’t have known that lilacs were her favorites. She smiled with pleasure.

  Rather than call him, she decided to walk down to the Fishbowl and thank him in person. Range was sitting alone at his desk as Jean knocked cautiously on the open door.

  “Come in, come in.” The executive producer waved his arm toward a chair.

  Jean took the offered seat, placing herself gingerly on the edge of the chair, making it clear that she did not intend to make it a lengthy visit. She was uncomfortable with this man, with all men, really. Except for Bill.

  “I just wanted to thank you. The flowers are beautiful.”

  Range fiddled with the tack on his silk tie. He looked uncertain for a moment as he considered what he wanted to say and Jean found herself wondering why she had been so intimidated by this guy. Clearing his throat, he began.

  “I can only imagine how hard it’s been for you, Jean. As I’m sure you know, Bill valued you very much. He always said he didn’t know what he would do without you.”

  Jean nodded silently, biting the corner of her lip.

  “Anyway, last night when I got the letter about Bill’s will, the letter you must have gotten, too . . .”

  Jean nodded in affirmation.

  “And I was going over in my mind what has happened, and I got to thinking about you and what you must be going through. I just wanted you to know how much I appreciate everything that you did for Bill. I feel certain that Bill would agree wholeheartedly if I told you that I sent them on his behalf as well as mine.”

  That did it. Jean’s tears began to flow.

  Range walked out from behind his desk, took out a snowy, freshly pressed handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to Jean. He pulled a chair next to hers and sat patiently as she cried brokenly.

  “I think it’s fair to say that you and I miss him the most around here,” he said quietly.

  She looked up at him, gratitude in her eyes. He understood.

  “I miss him so much,” Jean said. “He was so good to me. And I keep feeling that there must have been something that I could have done, something that I could have said, something that I should have picked up on. I feel so guilty. I should have protected him.” She blew her nose.

  “Jean, everyone knows what good care you took of Bill. Yelena Gregory herself was commenting on it just last night. Please, don’t do this to yourself. I know you miss him, I know that there is a big, gaping hole where Bill should be, but you’ve got to look to the future. Have you given any thought to what you want to do next?”

  “I don’t know what to do now,” Jean sniffed. “I can’t stand watching life go on around here with others coasting right in to fill Bill’s shoes. It’s tough to watch Pete Carlson sit in Bill’s chair, see Eliza Blake doing Bill’s favorite assignments. I’ve been offered a job in the KEY corporate offices, but that isn’t the news division and that’s what I know best. Yet sometimes I think maybe it would be a good idea to start somewhere totally new. Somewhere where everything doesn’t remind me of Bill. I’m very confused.”

  She had stopped crying and was considering aloud her options. She leaned toward her newfound ally and whispered, “I’m thinking of leaving KEY altogether.”

  If she was expecting a reaction, she didn’t get one.

  “They say not to make a major life move after a tragedy,” Range said. “The experts say to wait at least a year before making any big change.”

  “Range, I’ve lived my whole life doing what everyone else said I’m supposed to do. I’ve been very careful with my money over the years. With what I’ve saved and now with the money Bill’s left me, I can afford to take a very extended vacation. In fact, I don’t know if I want to come back.”

  “A hundred thousand dollars doesn’t last forever,” said Range gently.

  “I know, but for me, it’s more than two years’ salary. In fact, since Bill provided that the estate taxes be paid before the money is distributed, that hundred thousand gives me the equivalent of three years of income.”

  Range nodded. She could afford to take some time off.

  “Okay, maybe it does make sense for you
to get away from here for a while. But don’t burn any bridges. When the pain eases, you may find that you miss us.”

  As he watched Jean leave, Range found himself wishing that he too could take a long, long vacation. He had said as much to Yelena on the phone last night. He had called her, moved and upset after reading Bill’s will. He had forcefully insisted, after two very dry martinis, that Yelena listen to how generous his best friend Bill had been. Not just to him, but to others as well.

  Yelena listened patiently and answered soothingly. She missed Bill, too, she said. But they had to carry on without him. It was important that Range be around for the next several months providing stability until Pete Carlson was more at ease on the Evening Headlines. She wanted Pete to be happy.

  Chapter 48

  “What’s up, Joy?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Don’t tell me ‘nothing’!” Nate yelled, slamming his fist on her desk. “How did it come up that Bill Kendall left $100,000 in his will to the AIDS Parade for Dollars—a will he wrote before the AIDS Parade for Dollars had even been announced?”

  Joy stared up at him, unaccustomed to Nate’s anger being directed at her.

  Nate settled himself in the armchair across from Joy’s desk and tried to readjust his tone. “Listen, if you know something, you’ve got to level with me. I want to know everything and anything that could affect our campaign. I know Win would never have told Kendall about our campaign, so before I start imagining the worst, please tell me I’ve got this figured out all wrong.”

  As much as she detested Nate Heller, she had to give the guy credit. His antennae worked. Should she tell him? Actually, it would be a relief. She had been living with the secret for a long time. The month since Bill’s suicide had been especially unbearable. Sooner or later the rumors would fly. It would be better if she told Nate now than if he heard it from one of his myriad connections. Obviously, the will was public, or one of the beneficiaries had already made a call to Nate.

  Joy had stood on the sidelines of too many Washington scandals. They all had something in common, she reasoned: the coverups made things worse.

  She told Nate about the affair, and braced herself for his reaction.

  “Does Win know that you were involved with Kendall?”

  Joy shook her head. “No.”

  “Christ.”

  The campaign manager let loose with a string of obscenities. How could Joy have done it? She was going to ruin everything. How selfish! How stupid! Did she have a death wish? That was fine with him, but why did she have to bring the campaign down with her? Joy did not even try to interrupt.

  Nate looked down at the piece of paper in his hand. He had jotted down the names of everyone who’d be getting rich off of Bill Kendall’s last-minute generosity.

  “Well, congratulations,” he spat out. “Your loverboy was quite a guy.”

  “Spare me the sarcasm, Nate. That’s not going to help things one damn bit.”

  “Listen, Joy. Kendall’s obvious little ‘dying gesture of love’ might have all the world cooing over what a kind-hearted guy he was, but I’m not the only one who’s going to figure out that the country’s foremost TV anchorman had advance notice of the Wingard campaign strategy. How do you suppose we explain that little phenomenon?”

  “Maybe we’ve got some time, maybe we’ll figure something out before the will is made public.” Joy’s mind couldn’t focus, and then it occurred to her to ask, “How in God’s name do you know the contents of Bill Kendall’s will, anyway?”

  “That should be the least of your worries. If I know, others probably know, too. It’s my job to know. By the way, our little march of dimes wasn’t the only charity he named. A hundred thousand dollars each goes to the National Something X Foundation, the Special Olympics and something called New Visions for Living—God, that sounds like some goddamned Communist organization!”

  Nate was still angry. He looked down at the list of beneficiaries. “Okay. We’ve got three very happy charities, plus our own. His wife and son are set for life. Fine. Range Bullock gets a hundred thousand, too. That’s just great! The executive producer of the Evening Headlines knows that Kendall left money for a parade that hadn’t even started marching! And who’s this woman, Jean White?”

  “Bill’s secretary.”

  Nate whistled softly through his teeth. “A hundred thousand to the secretary! What did he do, throw her over when he took up with you?”

  Joy just glared at him.

  Nate paid no attention. “I don’t suppose you know this Father Fisco. Good little Catholic boy that he was, maybe Kendall confessed his adultery to his priest.” He paused only a second and then added venomously, “But then again, maybe he just couldn’t live with his sins, even after absolution. Is that it?”

  “Stop it, Nate! Stop it!”

  He’d gone too far and he knew it. “I’m sorry, Joy.” He got up and started walking toward the door. He turned to her just before leaving. By the end of his tirade, Joy felt awful but she could see that Nate was thinking. The wheels were turning as he tried to figure out how to proceed.

  “Maybe there is some way to salvage this situation, though God only knows how. I need time to think. I don’t want you to tell anyone, not even Win, though eventually he has to know. I just want to have a little time to think about what to do.” He walked out the door.

  One more name on the list. Leo Karas, M.D. As Nate made his way down the corridor, he asked himself out loud, “Now, what the hell did a doctor do to deserve a hundred thousand dollars?”

  Chapter 49

  Yelena told her secretary that she did not want to be disturbed for a while, closed her office door and lay down on the leather couch at the side of the room.

  When Range, somewhat anesthetized, had read her the will over the phone last night, she was glad he couldn’t see her face. She was glad he couldn’t see anything.

  Pete had seemed very annoyed when the phone’s incessant ringing interrupted their lovemaking. Why couldn’t he understand that she was perpetually on call, that at any moment the world could be coming apart and that she would have to attend to it? Day or night, Yelena Gregory, president of KEY News, didn’t have the luxury of ignoring the phone.

  More than once, she had to place her hand over the receiver and tell Pete to hush up. As much as she lived for these nights of romance and pleasure, she wasn’t going to let her executive producer know that she was sexually involved with anyone, let alone the new anchor of the Evening Headlines. She thought Pete was only kidding when he frowned at her attempts to keep him still until she was off the phone. But then he threw off the sheet and stormed out of the bedroom.

  Was it her imagination? As Range had just droned on, intent on a solemn reading of every beneficiary enumerated in William Kendall’s last will and testament, she distinctly heard a click on the telephone line. When she was finally able to get Range off the phone, she called out to Pete. He appeared at the bedroom door, the shadows cast by the lamp on the nightstand falling across his muscular form.

  God, I’m so lucky, she thought. So what if Bill Kendall had left money to both Range and Jean White, and not to her. Bill and Yelena were hardly friends. She was happy for Jean, though. The poor soul had nothing going on in her life. Bill had been it.

  But Yelena had Pete Carlson. He might have his faults, but he certainly made her feel alive and, sometimes, even loved.

  “Come on back to bed, darling,” she said in her best Lauren Bacall intonation.

  “So, now you’re ready,” he sneered. He got into the other side of the bed and presented his back to Yelena. “Well, I’m no longer in the mood.” He punched his pillow with his left fist and buried the right side of his head into the indentation. “Good night.”

  Yelena could tell from his voice that there’d be no changing his mind. She’d never known him to be so sensitive. Reminding herself that she had done nothing wrong did not keep her from feeling rejected. She leaned over with resignation
and turned the light out.

  An hour later, she felt him move. Yelena closed her eyes and pretended she was asleep. She listened in the darkness as Pete crept out of the bedroom, trying not to make a sound. A minute later, straining over her own breathing, she heard Pete’s muffled voice. Yelena silently got up and tiptoed to the bedroom door. The combination of moonlight and streetlamps shed enough illumination into her living room. Pete had his strong, bare back to her as he talked in hushed tones into the living room phone.

  All she could make out was his last sentence. “That’s fine for you,” he whispered. “You don’t have to sleep with her.”

  Oh God, no. It’s coming. By now it was easy to recognize, one of those dreaded attacks. Panic attack, that’s what the doctor had called it. Damn those know-it-all doctors.

  Suddenly, it was hard to breathe. This must be what it feels like to be smothered. Hurry. Catch your breath.

  Yelena ran into the bathroom. You’re going to die if you don’t catch your breath. Breathe, breathe. Take a deep breath. There goes the heart, it’s flipping over and beating, pounding, pounding through the chest wall. She opened the bathroom window.

  Air. Fresh air. That will work. It’s not as if it’s the first time you had one of these things. Rushing to the hospital like a damned fool. That young doctor so smug in his diagnosis. You know it will pass. The tingling sensations of your nervous system run amok.

  Breathe, breathe. There, it’s passing. Yes, it’s getting better. The heart is slowing down. Thank God, it’s passing.

  A knock at the bathroom door. “Are you all right?”

  Yelena couldn’t find her voice. She stared at the door, swallowing hard.

  “Yelena. What’s the matter? Open the door.”