Do You Want to Know a Secret?

by Mary Jane Clark

  “Well, I like her. She’s been so gracious about filling in for Bill at a fund-raiser I’m working on. I’d much rather see her in Bill’s chair at KEY News.”

  Louise looked up from absentmindedly stirring her coffee. She realized that, until now, for the entire luncheon she had not thought of Bill. She was sure it was the first time since his death that an hour had passed without her ex-husband coming to mind.

  “Mmm. I miss Bill, too,” Louise continued. “Even though we haven’t been married for years, I didn’t realize how much I still depended on him, mostly to share in making decisions about William. He was a good one to run things past on just about anything. I miss that most of all.” Louise took a last sip of her white wine before adding, “And there’s the fact that Bill Kendall was the first man that I ever really loved. Maybe he was the only one. Losing him hurts.”

  “I know Bill loved you, too. He told me many times how good your good years were.”

  Louise smiled wryly. “Sad, isn’t it? Even with all we had going for us, we didn’t keep it together.”

  “How much do you think William’s condition had to do with it?”

  “Not much. Sure, that was a big strain. But I think the old saying is true. Stress is threatening to a marriage. But a marriage with the right stuff cannot only survive it, but become stronger for the testing. No, William didn’t cause our breakup. It was a cumulative thing. Bill and I were both very strong-willed and as the years went on we saw things in increasingly different ways. Except for our son, we had very little in common anymore. And we were both young enough and honest enough that the thought of staying in what had become a hollow marriage was unbearable. We also had the economic resources to split up, an important consideration when you have kids.”

  The waiter placed the check on the table, interrupting the conversation. Range looked at his watch.

  “I wish I didn’t have to leave now, but I do,” he said sincerely. “You know, I really enjoyed this. Would you like to have dinner sometime soon?”

  “I would. I’d like that very much.” As they got up from the table, Louise assured herself that the next time she saw Range she would be sure that she had a pedicure.

  Chapter 59

  Judge Quinn didn’t like Nate Heller calling the Hackensack courthouse, but he took the call in chambers anyway. He deliberately left his office door open so his clerk wouldn’t think anything secret was going on.

  “Yes, Mr. Heller. How nice of you to call. I know you must be busy with our primary. What can I do for you?”

  “It’s what I can do for you, Judge. Why don’t you come down to Houston next month and see how much excitement half a million dollars can buy?”

  Chapter 60

  By ten o’clock, two hours after the New Jersey polls had closed, the expected happened. Haines Wingard won the delegates necessary to make him his party’s candidate. Nate Heller let the word out that Wingard would make his victory statement within the half hour, ensuring that excerpts from the speech would be included in late local newscasts.

  At 10:20, Win and Joy entered the Marriott ballroom by a side door and made their smiling and waving way to the podium, basking in the applause and cheers and stopping to shake hands with some of the hundreds of supporters packing the room.

  At 10:30, Wingard began his victory speech. He thanked those who had worked so long and so hard for him, pledged to do his best in the months of campaigning to come, and asked for the continued support of his party and the American people. Balloons fell, supporters yelled and whistled and the band played “Happy Days Are Here Again.” Win and Joy flashed their white smiles and waved, luxuriating in the sweetness of victory.

  By 10:50, the Wingards made their way off the stage and out to a car waiting to take them on the fifty-minute drive to the Waldorf Towers in Manhattan where they would spend the night.

  At 11:01, news shows were leading with the Wingard victory speech.

  By 11:15, the television technicians at the Marriott were breaking down their equipment and packing up.

  Yelena Gregory called to say how pleased she was with the coverage. Knowing that KEY headquarters was satisfied with the editorial and technical quality of the remote, Range popped another antacid tablet and breathed a sigh of relief. As many of these things as he had done, he never sat back and coasted. Anything could, and sometimes did, happen.

  But now, able to relax, his thoughts turned to his lunch with Louise. Funny, he had known her for years. While always finding her attractive, he had never acted on his feelings and called her. It was awkward to ask Bill’s ex-wife for a date. The dynamic had changed with Bill’s death. He didn’t think Bill would mind. He might even have been pleased. Bill had often said that he wished Louise a happy life and hoped that she would find love again.

  Suddenly he felt the overriding urge to see her. He thought of getting into his rental car and driving over to Bears Nest. It would be fun to act impulsively for a change. But how would Louise take it if he just showed up on her doorstep at slightly before midnight? Something told him she’d probably take it just fine.

  Range decided against spontaneity in favor of what he had planned before he saw Louise. He thanked everyone who had worked for him, stopped for a quick beer in the lounge and then began the drive back to Manhattan.

  Chapter 61

  The day after the last primaries, Senator Wingard was scheduled to appear on all the morning news shows. After hectic stops at the other network broadcast studios around Manhattan, KEY was the last interview.

  The Wingard entourage entered the KEY to America studio with energy, excitement and the assurance that comes from winning. His eyes were tired, but the senator was smiling broadly as he shook hands with KEY staffers who had gathered in the rear of the studio to get a look at the man who might be the next president. Joy, stunning in a magenta silk dress, not only accompanied her husband, but got plenty of attention on her own. The first lady factor was at work.

  The Wingards were directed to their places in the studio “living room.” They sat themselves on the blue couch as a sound technician expertly clipped small microphones to the senator’s lapel and the neckline of Joy’s dress. Both guests were already wearing their television makeup, but the show’s hairdresser quickly did her job, efficiently brushing and smoothing. All this was quietly done while Eliza and Harry were busy on the other side of the studio, in the “kitchen,” taking a crash course in making flowers and other decorations from icing, courtesy of a pastry-chef-turned-cookbook-author. The baker was vehement in his conviction that anyone could execute the icing rosettes, thereby saving themselves money and adding a very personal touch to the graduation and wedding cakes so common at this time of year. Harry was having better luck with the flowers than his co-host. Eliza had gotten icing on the front of her yellow suit.

  At the commercial break, Eliza and Harry made their way over to the “living room” after washing the sticky icing from their hands. Eliza noticed Nate Heller standing over to the side of the set. What an intense little man he was. An intense little man with an agenda he was very successful pushing.

  “Five seconds.”

  Eliza and Harry sat up straight in the two chairs across from the couch. Eliza started off.

  “Last night, Michigan senator Haines Wingard won the final delegates necessary to secure his party’s presidential nomination. Senator and Mrs. Wingard are with us this morning. Congratulations and welcome.”

  “Thank you, Eliza. It’s great to be here.”

  “Well, Senator, you made it. How does it feel this morning?”

  “Great! Just great! You know, Eliza, it’s been a long primary season and I must tell you that I’m glad it’s over. And I must also admit how good it feels to win the nomination. I think I’m just going to let myself enjoy that feeling this morning.”

  “You know I can’t just let you sit back and enjoy the moment,” said Eliza, smiling good-naturedly. “I’ve got to ask about the future. What are you planning
to do next?”

  Wingard returned the smile. “Well, in the very immediate future, I will be doing some speaking and campaigning here in New York City this morning. This afternoon, I’ll be going back to Washington to attend to some Senate business. And tomorrow I’m taking a day off.” Wingard gestured offstage. “But I have a campaign manager in the wings who has plans for just about all the days after that. He’s a tough taskmaster. Seriously, though, we aren’t going to sit back and rest, waiting for the convention this summer. We’re going to use all the time we have to get out there and talk with the American people about the issues.”

  The computer signaled the KEY to America theme music to begin playing.

  “Senator, I’m sorry but we have to take a break. Can you stay with us? Harry hasn’t gotten a chance to ask you anything and we’d like to hear from Mrs. Wingard as well.”

  “We’d be happy to stay.”

  “KEY to America will continue after this.”

  During the commercial, Eliza quickly walked the few feet over to the news desk. She could feel a headache coming on and wanted to keep ahead of it. She rifled through her shoulder bag until she found her bottle of Fiorinal. In her rush to open it, the bottle fell from her hands and the green capsules spilled at her feet. A stagehand scurried to clean up the pills and gave the bottle back to Eliza, as one of the broadcast producers handed her the script she would read in the news block after the commercial.

  The first three stories were recaps of earlier reported news—President Grayson’s physical exam results, the announcement of an economic summit scheduled for late summer, and the end of a labor strike. She didn’t have time to read the last spot as the stage manager signaled that they were coming out of commercial.

  Eliza started to talk into the camera, routinely reading her copy. Most of the people in the studio watched Eliza on one of several monitors scattered around the room. Joy turned her head and was watching Eliza herself as the anchorwoman began the last story.

  “Residents of an exclusive Upper East Side Manhattan neighborhood are stunned this morning by the street murder of a prominent New York physician. Dr. Leo Karas—” Eliza stopped, her eyes squinting unbelievingly at the Teleprompter before her.

  There was dead silence in the studio. Everyone was staring at her.

  She struggled to begin again. “Dr. Leo Karas, a psychiatrist and author, was the apparent victim of a robber’s gun as he was walking home from his East Side office early this morning. Police are investigating. That’s it for this half hour. Now back to Harry and Senator and Mrs. Wingard.”

  Her face flushed and heart pounding, she pulled out her earpiece, unclipped her microphone and walked quickly out of the studio.

  Chapter 62

  It was easy to hire a locksmith to open the apartment, and make a new set of keys.

  I could have dropped it anywhere. The little silver key ring, where could it have gone? It could be anywhere.

  Please, God. Let it be anywhere but on East Eightieth Street.

  That key ring could be easily traced.

  Chapter 63

  In the desperate, lonely years that he had been living on the streets of New York, he had seen and done a lot of things. He had witnessed men and women eating out of garbage cans and urinating on the sidewalk. He had done both himself. He had watched human beings sleeping on subway grates, huddled to stay warm and making rooms for the night out of cardboard boxes. He had done both himself. He had observed people fistfighting on the sidewalk and having sex in doorways. He had done both himself, though more of the former and less of the latter. He had spent more days than he could count panhandling, scraping together enough to buy a pint of anything, drinking to unconsciousness and waking to find his face lying in his own vomit. He barely noticed anymore the countless drug deals, street robberies and prostitution contracts that crossed his field of vision daily. He had seen more in the years he had been homeless than he had ever dreamed possible.

  Almost nothing fazed him anymore.

  His rough, cracked hand reached into the pocket of his filthy workpants and felt for the key ring. There it was. He had picked it up from the sidewalk, from beside Dr. Karas’s body with the bullets in the back of his brain.

  The voices told him to take the key ring lying beside Dr. Karas.

  “Tit for tat. Tit for tat. Leave him the elephant, this for that.”

  He didn’t want to give up the golden elephant, it was his favorite. But he had to do what the voices commanded. Eliza Blake’s voice had been so calm when she told him to keep an eye on the doctor. The man knew she’d be awfully angry if he disobeyed now.

  He carefully placed the precious brass elephant next to the still body. He picked up the shiny ring quickly and scrammed, not wanting the police to catch him.

  He hadn’t gone back to Eightieth Street since then. He had stayed farther downtown. He had been eyeing three brownstones on the same block in the upper sixties that were being refurbished, waiting for knockers to be installed. Finally, one by one, they appeared.

  One night he went by and was disappointed to find an iron oak leaf affixed to a dark green front door.

  The next time he went by, there was a brass scallop shell screwed to the neighboring new home.

  Nope.

  The third time was the charm. A brass wolf’s head peered out of the deep red door. Tonight he was going to add the wild specimen to his menagerie. Those people weren’t going to like it much. All their hard work, sanding and cleaning and fixing. But a wolf was one he didn’t have yet. He ached to get the spray can out of its hiding place.

  Just a few more hours until he could do what he had to do.

  Chapter 64

  Father Alec read about the murder of Dr. Leo Karas in the Star Ledger. Karas, the story revealed, had played an integral role in the development of the AIDS clinic at the University of Medicine and Dentistry of New Jersey in Newark and had a pro-bono affiliation there.

  Father Alec had the feeling one has when reading or seeing something revealed in an official news capacity that one already knows. He felt like an insider. Father Alec wanted to tell someone. But he couldn’t. Instead, he sat quietly in his small office in the rectory behind the cathedral, remembering his first meeting with Bill Kendall.

  “Father, I have AIDS.”

  The priest had heard it a number of times before, but never from someone so well known and powerful. Yet, in the end, Bill Kendall, multimillionaire anchorman, was the same as any other afflicted child of God. He was going to die. It was not likely to be an easy death. It probably would be painful, degrading and ugly. Father Alec knew that the man sitting beside him knew full well what lay ahead.

  Bill Kendall’s face bespoke his anguish. The priest groped for words, and then remembered that this human being needed someone to listen, not necessarily to talk. He was probably eager to tell his story, to let it out. He needed compassion, not advice.

  Bill explained that he had just been at the AIDS clinic. His psychiatrist had arranged for him to see a specialist there. Bill was very concerned that no one recognize him and the specialist had sworn that he would protect his identity at all costs. Kendall supposed that he could trust someone whom his psychiatrist recommended. He trusted his doctor.

  Bill also told Father Alec that his psychiatrist had prescribed Prozac for the depression that enveloped him, saying that it would take the edge off the psychic pain. Bill said he wasn’t sure if the medication was helping. He still felt miserable. He said he had seen the twin spires of the cathedral when he came out of the hospital and, on impulse, had driven in their direction.

  Bill described how he had discovered a lump under his right arm. A diagnosis of lymphoma and AIDS quickly followed. Bill grasped the priest’s hand. Father Alec consciously held tightly and looked steadily into the anchorman’s eyes.

  “Do you think we can talk again? It’s helped.”

  “Anytime you say.”

  Bill looked around the vast cathedral. The pri
est read his mind.

  “Next time, we could make it in my office.”

  “But I don’t want anyone to recognize me.”

  “Come with me.”

  Father Alec led him to the Lady Chapel. It was empty. The priest guided him up behind the marble altar. There was a door hidden from view by the elaborate altarpiece which, like a miniature cathedral itself, spired to the chapel ceiling.

  “This leads into one of the rectory dining rooms. No one will see you enter or leave. Just call me first, and we’ll meet here.”

  And so they began to meet and talk. It was during one of those talks that Bill mentioned the psychiatrist’s name.

  “It just goes to show you, though, that once those nuns and brothers get you in the formative years, they always have a hold. Talking to a psychiatrist could be enough for most people, but to a Catholic, it’s important to cover your bets. That’s why I’m talking to you, just to be on the safe side.”

  The two men had smiled at the truth in the words.

  “You know, I really like you and would like to have you for a friend. It’s too bad that I’m going to die, just as I’m getting to know you.”

  Father Alec hadn’t known what to say to that.

  At their next meeting, Father Alec told Bill that he could anoint him with the holy oil of the sick. Bill had gone for the idea eagerly. Behind the secret door, in the hallway between the Lady Chapel and the rectory, was the oak-carved sacristy where the holy oils were kept.

  In silence, Father Alec laid his hands on Bill’s head. Then he stuck his thumb into the bottle of blessed oil and made the sign of the cross on Bill’s forehead.

  “Through this holy anointing, may the Lord in his love and mercy help you with the grace of the Holy Spirit.”