Do You Want to Know a Secret?

by Mary Jane Clark

  “What is it, Father?”

  “Mrs. Wingard, I’m so very sorry to tell you this, but I feel that I must.” He stopped and looked like he might actually be sick. She prodded.

  “What? What is it?”

  “Mrs. Wingard, Bill Kendall had AIDS.”

  He saw her intake of breath, watched her bite her bottom lip. Otherwise, her face remained expressionless. She rose, smoothed the skirt of her suit, and adjusted a stray strand of hair. If she had just been hit with the psychic equivalent of a body blow, she gave little sign. Instead, she took the priest’s hand.

  “Thank you, Father. I appreciate that you told me.”

  His mouth hung slightly open as he watched her walk erect to the chapel door, open it, and face the throng waiting for her on the other side.

  Chapter 83

  Senator Wingard returned to his office after casting his vote on the Senate floor. The bill that he co-sponsored had passed by a wide margin. He did not feel triumphant.

  They think I buy it.

  The thought sickened him. He hadn’t realized Joy was such a smooth liar.

  Nate was another story. He didn’t look him in the eye when the subject of the Kendall bequest came up. It was so out of character for his suspicious campaign manager not to comment on a charitable bequest’s being made before the charity had been announced. Nate must know that Joy had been seeing Kendall.

  Win was playing along. He didn’t want to confront Joy about it now. The campaign was much more important than his marriage. He wanted to put all his energies into becoming president.

  But now he knew that neither Joy nor Nate could be trusted. They didn’t speak the truth. What else could they be hiding?

  He couldn’t say he was heartbroken. “Resigned” would be a better description of how he felt. He’d known for a long time that he and Joy didn’t have much going on between them. They were thoughtful and polite with one another, but there was none of the easy bantering they’d shared in their early years together. No spark, no excitement. Their lovemaking was perfunctory. They both just went through the motions.

  The pursuit of the White House was not bringing them closer. Their marriage was a political business deal.

  In a strange way, Wingard was more upset over Nate’s betrayal. He’d trusted his campaign manager utterly and completely. But now he knew he’d been naive. He should have known better. Just because they’d cheated on the law boards together all those years ago, and had been friends and allies all of their adult lives, didn’t mean that things couldn’t change. Brothers betrayed brothers. He just hadn’t expected it from Nate.

  In the end, how much did it all matter? As long as the presidency was Wingard’s.

  There was nothing to do now but to go along with the lie. Maybe they would all get away with it in the end. He had watched Joy’s morning news interviews with a lump in his throat, but she hadn’t betrayed a thing. Even in response to Eliza Blake’s questions, Joy had remained calm and collected. If Win hadn’t read her journal, he would have believed Joy’s explanations himself.

  But he had read it. The journal and the letter tucked inside had explained it all.

  Chapter 84

  “What did the priest want?” asked Nate the minute they got into the car for the drive to Newark Airport.

  “Oh, he wanted to make a point about the evil of abortion,” Joy lied carefully. “He was just a very sincere young man. He said that in my position I could do a lot of good by influencing public opinion.”

  Nate rolled his eyes. “What did you say?”

  “I said I understood and respected his feelings and I thanked him.”

  “Good. Stay off abortion whenever you possibly can.”

  Joy was relieved that she had an interview with an AP reporter on the flight back to Washington. She didn’t have to sit next to Nate. She resented that they had been forced to become allies of a sort, united in their common knowledge of her affair with Bill. As far as she was concerned, the less she saw of Nate Heller, the better she liked it. She especially didn’t want to talk to Nate now, after her conversation with Father Alec.

  Once settled in her coach seat on the commercial shuttle flight to National Airport, Joy amazed herself at her ability to field the reporter’s questions. Sipping an icy ginger ale, she responded appropriately and carefully. Attentive and poised, she made it a point to inject some self-deprecating humor. She was getting quite adept at winning over the reporters. Lately, she had been playing a little game with herself. Before an interview, she’d think of two or three clever statements that she’d find a way to squeeze into the conversation. When she checked the reporter’s subsequent story, sure enough, her preplanned quotes would be included with amazing frequency. It worked in print and she had begun to be more aware of doing it with the broadcasters, too. She liked to see if she could pick her own soundbites.

  The airliner began its descent to the runway. She noticed that though the early summer evening wasn’t dark yet, the landing lights were already lit, rimming the macadam plane path. Joy wondered at the fact that she had been able to do the interview so smoothly, pouring on some charm as well, right after Father Alec’s biting pronouncement.

  Chapter 85

  With less than two minutes until air, Yelena joined Range, Louise and Jean as they settled themselves in the Fishbowl to watch the show on the monitor mounted against the wall of the office. There were several television sets lined up alongside the one turned to KEY, their audio turned down, affording a chance to see what the other networks were doing at the time.

  Yelena turned to Jean. “It’s good to have you back.”

  “I second that,” added Range.

  Jean smiled appreciatively. “I’m surprised at how good it is to be back.” Jean had ample reason to smile. She had come back to work on her own terms, having decided that she couldn’t face being some other KEY hotshot’s “girl.” She had always secretly wanted to work in production and, somehow, Bill’s death and the time off she had taken to sort things out had emboldened her to ask for what she really wanted. After just two weeks away, she called Range and told him of her desire. She was very pleasantly surprised when he immediately offered her an assistant producer’s job on the Evening Headlines. What was it they said about adversity being an opportunity for growth?

  Louise sat on the office couch, legs crossed, long slit skirt revealing a nice section of thigh. She was looking forward to dinner with Range after the show. In fact, she’d been thinking about it all day. The delicious early summer warmth outside translated into a hunger for Range’s male companionship. She knew Range had dinner reservations at Lespinasse. What he didn’t know was that she had taken a room for the night at the St. Regis.

  Louise glanced out through the glass wall of the Fish-bowl. Pete Carlson was in his anchor chair, poised to begin.

  Tonight, all the networks led with campaign stories. Coming out of the opening story, Carlson voiced over some pictures of Joy Wingard in Newark visiting the AIDS care facilities. Louise noticed it first.

  “Hey, isn’t that the priest from Bill’s funeral talking to Joy Wingard?”

  The camera closed in on the young man’s face as Ye-lena, Range and Jean peered.

  Yelena nodded, impressed. “Yes, I think you’re right. Nice catch, lady. Sure you don’t want a job in news?”

  Chapter 86

  Returning from Newark, a very tired Eliza inserted the key and opened her apartment door. As she dropped her canvas carry bag in the foyer, she kicked off her black and white spectators and unbuckled the wide patent leather belt cinching her waist. A squealing Janie, fresh from her bath and dragging her stuffed monkey, greeted her.

  “Mommy, Mommy!”

  “My sweetheart! I missed you!”

  She gathered the little girl in her arms and inhaled the deliciousness of her. Mr. Bubble on four-year-old skin.

  “Did you have a good day?”

  “Uh-huh. Zippy and I had friends over.”

 
; “You did? Who?”

  “Billy and Chris.”

  Eliza spotted Mrs. Twomey coming from the bathroom, Janie’s clothes gathered in her arms. Mrs. Twomey looked beat.

  “Hi, Mrs. Twomey. How did it go today?”

  “Fine, fine,” Mrs. Twomey responded in her light brogue. “The little Haffler twins came over to play this afternoon and the three of them had a grand time.” Eliza envisioned what her day had been. If she was tired, she didn’t complain about it. It was a given in Mrs. Twomey’s world that people worked hard. That’s all there was to it.

  “We made cookies, Mommy!”

  “You did? What big kids! I hope you saved some for me.”

  “We did. And Mrs. Twomey made applesauce. We saved some of that for you, too.” Janie was enthusiastic. She loved Mrs. Twomey’s applesauce.

  It was at moments like these that Eliza felt she was missing something. She should be home, supervising the play dates, baking the chocolate chips with her child. It was a recurrent theme.

  Janie prodded her toward the kitchen, eager to show off her cookies. The two sat at the glass table, Janie drinking milk, Eliza sipping a Diet Coke. Janie nibbled on her cookie, making only small progress. Eliza popped down three in short order and knew she could easily devour the rest of them. She pushed the plate aside.

  Mrs. Twomey, having straightened up after the bath and turned down Janie’s bed, came in to say good night.

  “Night-night, Mrs. Twomey. See you tomorrow.” Janie rose and gave her a big hug. Mrs. Twomey hugged back, genuinely and affectionately.

  “Good night, Mrs. Twomey, and thank you.”

  The housekeeper looked like she wanted to say something.

  “What is it, Mrs. Twomey? Is something wrong?”

  “Mrs. Blake, I’ve been wanting to tell you for quite a while and I’m just going to come out with it. I’ve been watching that Pete Carlson on the news and I think you are so much better than he is. I think you should have gotten Bill Kendall’s job.” She exhaled with a deliberate nod of the head. “There. I’ve said it.”

  Eliza smiled. “I think you’re a bit prejudiced, Mrs. Twomey. But thanks all the same. I appreciate it.”

  Hearing Mrs. Twomey lock the front door behind her, Eliza glanced at the microwave’s digital clock—8:15. Already. Janie went to bed at 8:30. A big half hour at the end of the day to spend with her little girl. Quality time, schmality time. It wasn’t enough, and she knew it.

  Mother and daughter walked down the hall to the little girl’s room and started their routine. Goodnight, Moon, Walt Disney’s version of Button Soup, Clifford the Big Red Dog, and Curious George. Most kids, Eliza speculated, would want Goodnight, Moon read last, just prior to lights out. Not Janie. Janie liked to be prepared. Goodnight, Moon was the stage-setter and got her mind thinking in the direction of going to sleep. The other stories were the ones she really enjoyed, always saving Curious George for last.

  “I love monkeys. Can we get a monkey, Mommy? Please?”

  “You have Zippy, sweetheart.”

  Janie wasn’t buying it. “I mean a real monkey.”

  “No.”

  “Why?”

  “We can’t keep a monkey in an apartment.”

  “Please?”

  “Sorry, Janie. The answer is no.”

  The afternoon spent with Billy and Christopher Haffler had left Janie tired enough to give up fairly easily. A half-dozen hugs, kisses, “night-nights” and “I love yous” later, and the little girl was settled in for the night.

  Eliza padded back down to the kitchen, peeling off her pantyhose as she walked. Instinctively, she went over and turned on the television that rested on the counter. She hit the rewind button of the VCR, rolling back the tape of the Evening Headlines. She had the VCR programmed to tape the show every night.

  A fifteen-hour day, and in less than seven hours she’d be up to do it again. Eliza groaned and mentally checked off what she wanted to do before she could crawl gratefully into bed. A good, hot bath was high on the list.

  She hit the Play button. The tail end of the local news sports report popped on the screen. The Mets lost again. So did the Yankees. The sports announcer was disgusted.

  Mrs. Twomey had left some roast chicken, green beans and a baked potato on a covered plate in the microwave. Not really tasting what she was eating, Eliza listened as the Evening Headlines began. She watched entranced as Pete Carlson delivered the day’s news.

  Pete might not be impressive in person, but Eliza had to admit that on television he came across powerfully. Funny, how TV could do that. She had seen people who had great personal magnetism not make the grade as TV personalities. Carlson was the reverse. In the flesh, he had the charisma of day-old bread, but on the screen, he shone. It was surprising that the ratings were down. Maybe the public somehow sensed what a rat he was and tuned out.

  “Meow!” Eliza purred out loud, disgusted with herself for dwelling on Carlson. She was jealous and she knew it. Increasingly, she realized she wanted the anchor job. Just run your own race, she told herself. Focus on your job and do it in the best way possible.

  Carlson was talking over the pictures of Joy Wingard. Predictably, the screen showed Mrs. Wingard’s eyes filling up as she held the AIDS baby. Eliza knew the moment she had seen the tear in Joy’s eye that afternoon that the picture would make the evening news. It was a natural.

  The last tel-op was Joy talking to the young priest. Standing near Joy, Eliza had heard him introduce himself as Father Fisco from Sacred Heart Cathedral. She had immediately placed him as the priest who gave the memorable sermon at Bill’s funeral. What had he said to Joy behind closed chapel doors? What had he wanted from her?

  Eliza poured scalding water over a decaffeinated tea bag in a yellow ceramic KEY mug. She was too tired to speculate further about Joy Wingard and Father Fisco. Her mind was already looking ahead to tomorrow. She had to be up at her usual painful hour, anchor the show, go out and do a couple of interviews with outside observers of Mrs. Wingard’s AIDS fund-raising efforts and, then, hopefully, sit down to write the script for the piece. The video shot today would definitely be worth using again in the takeout piece, even though some of it had already aired on the show tonight as hard news. In addition, the Washington bureau was shooting pictures of the office where volunteers were busy counting the money that was flowing into the D.C. post office box. Other KEY bureaus around the country were getting reaction from people in the street on what they thought of Joy Wingard’s efforts for the AIDS Parade for Dollars.

  Yes, Eliza decided, the elements were well covered. The piece had all the makings of a winner and Eliza was determined to have her best effort air on the Evening Headlines.

  But right now, the bathtub beckoned.

  Chapter 87

  Jean opened a pouch of dried cat food and emptied it into Sylvester’s bowl. The black and white cat stared indifferently from beneath the kitchen table. Jean scooped the contents of a can of corned beef hash into a microwavable bowl, covered it and zapped it for six minutes. As she ate in silence, she reflected that her dinner was not that much different from her pet’s.

  Jean’s mood was not improved by thoughts of what she had witnessed in Range’s office. Louise and Range had become quite an item in her absence and she didn’t approve, not one bit. Seeing Louise in the Fishbowl tonight was a reminder of Bill. How any woman could ever be interested in another man after she’d had Bill was beyond Jean. He was the best and anyone else fell short in comparison.

  Sylvester finally arose, stretched and glided over to his bowl. He halfheartedly took a few bits of the ersatz chicken concoction and then walked away in disdain.

  “Aren’t you the high and mighty one? You should be glad that you are fed at all, for all the feedback I get from you!”

  High and mighty. Louise Kendall thought she was so high and mighty. Sashaying in there this evening dressed like a common floozy. She was so sure of herself, sidling up to Range and flirting unabashed
ly. She should be ashamed!

  And Range. What came over him as soon as that woman walked into the room? He acted like a fool. Didn’t he have any loyalty to Bill? It was disgusting!

  A job in news, indeed. Sure, Yelena, that’s just what they all needed. Louise Kendall in the newsroom, another office affair. Jean grimaced at the thought. She had witnessed dozens of personal relationships develop in the news department over the years. Some lasted, most didn’t. But all of them had turned her off. Work and love, not to mention sex, just didn’t go together. She would never allow herself to get involved with anyone at work.

  Not that anyone had ever asked.

  In all her years at KEY the only one who had ever interested her, the only one she had guiltily fantasized about, was Bill. He was the only one she had ever loved. And she was very sure there would be no other. Louise Kendall should get down on her knees and thank God that she’d been married to Bill and be forever grateful that he’d fathered her child. The fact that Louise Kendall was showing interest in another man was revolting. Being Bill Kendall’s widow, even if they had been divorced, should be enough for any woman.

  Bill Kendall’s widow. What a grand role that would be! To have been able to mourn for Bill for all the world to see. Jean would have given that role the respect it deserved, beginning from the day of the funeral. It would been her privilege to walk behind Bill’s casket, to have the priest address her in his sermon.

  The priest. That’s what had her thinking so much about Bill. Jean looked down and began fingering the ivory bracelet on her left wrist. A Christmas gift from her precious Bill.

  She wondered what the priest had been talking to Mrs. Wingard about.

  She brought her plate over to the kitchen sink, bent down to the cabinet beneath and began to rummage through it. Finding the can of paint thinner, she grabbed a clean rag and made her way to the bathroom. Those painters had been slobs. There were paint splatterings all over the place. She breathed in the turpentine vapors as she methodically began rubbing and loosening the tiny specks of stray paint that had affixed themselves to the tiles. She liked things to be spotless.