by Lynn Ames
“On that disgustingly mushy note,” Peter intoned, “I’m kicking you both out so I can get some shuteye. Good night, Jay.”
“Good night, Peter.”
“Good night, John Boy.”
“Good night, Mary Ellen.”
“Ugh, you didn’t actually watch that drivel, did you?”
“No, the credits were my favorite part.”
“Get out of here. See you soon, Jay.”
The Falcon was crowded for the middle of the week. Bodies pulsed to the music; the clink-clink of glasses and beer bottles mixed with laughter and loud conversation. On the level slightly above the dance floor, a serious game of pool was in progress.
“Whoa, would you get a load of that one.”
More than one set of eyes followed the sleek form of the woman in tight blue jeans and a button-down shirt as she surveyed the room.
“Put your tongue back in your mouth, Tess, I saw her first. She’s mine.”
“You can both forget it; you’re not her type. She’s far too sophisticated for the likes of you.”
“Oh, and you think you’re more her style, Robbie?”
Stepping down from the entranceway, Kate ignored the leering and the chatter and nodded to the bartender, who was serving someone at the other end of the Formica-topped bar.
“What can I get you, gorgeous?”
“Just a Diet Coke with lemon, thanks.”
“Oh, big drinker, eh?”
“Yeah,” Kate laughed. “I’ll try not to guzzle it.”
“Don’t look now, but I think that woman over in the corner is trying to get your attention.”
“Is that so? What’s she drinking?”
“Killian’s.”
“Okay, give me one of those, too.”
“Huh, I wouldn’t have picked her for your type.”
Kate rolled her eyes, threw down a few bills, and picked up the beer bottle and her soda. “She’s not,” she said over her shoulder as she walked away.
“Hello, Ms. Ashton.”
“Ms. Kyle.” The reporter nodded. “Fancy meeting you here.”
Kate made a show of looking around. “Nothing fancy about this place.”
Lynn Ames
“Let’s just say you class up the joint,” Wendy rejoined. “You do realize that every woman in the bar is staring at you, right?”
“What, is my fly undone?”
“Very funny. How do you deal with that?”
“With what?”
“With the kind of attention and looks you get everywhere you go.”
“My fiancée says I’m oblivious and obtuse. She’s probably right.”
“In that case, maybe I should be asking her how she deals with it.”
Kate smiled. “I’d venture to say that she’s the one who turns heads, not me.”
“Well, you must make quite a couple.”
“I think so.” Kate shifted minutely in her chair, uncomfortable talking about Jay with a reporter, even one as friendly as Wendy. “Any more word from Breathwaite?”
“No. I’m not supposed to hear from him until Friday afternoon.”
“Good.” Kate leaned forward to be heard over the music without shouting. “I want you to give him his story.”
“What?”
“I want you to write a story that will satisfy Breathwaite.”
“But that could mean the end of your career.”
“Not if you write the story I have in mind.” Kate’s eyes burned with intensity.
“Talk to me.”
“My parents died when I was eighteen and away at college. They were killed by a drunk driver on the Hutchinson River Parkway in Westchester. The guy was found civilly liable, but never served time.”
“And this is relevant exactly how?”
“What if, all these years, I’ve been carrying this chip on my shoulder?
What if I’ve been plotting all this time to put myself in position to get back at the criminal justice system that denied me justice so long ago?”
The reporter considered. “Yeah, like you had yourself outed and fired from WCAP just so the governor would feel sorry for you and hire you as PIO at DOCS. As if you could have planned all that.”
“Perhaps I was just biding my time, getting experience in the media and getting close to the governor in order to ingratiate myself to him until the appropriate opportunity arose.”
“Nobody’s gonna buy that.”
“Probably not, but the story has elements of truth, and it gives you something Breathwaite will love.”
“What’s that?”
“A personal angle. Imagine how much he’ll enjoy seeing my personal pain splashed across newspapers all around the state.”
“That would appeal to the asshole.”
The Cost of Commitment
Kate ticked off the points on her fingers. “He gets his story, you save yourself, I get to keep my job because the story isn’t sufficient to warrant my dismissal. Everybody wins.”
“What if it’s not enough to get him off my back?”
“I’ll give you enough details to make him happy. Wendy, I’m not going to let him take you down, I promise you.”
The reporter still seemed unconvinced.
“Look, there’s a much juicier story to be had here. This is not an isolated incident with Breathwaite. There’s something much bigger going on.”
“I’ve noticed that you’ve been under the gun in a bunch of papers lately. Why?”
“I’m not sure yet. All I know so far is that Breathwaite wants me out, and he wants to come back to DOCS as PIO. What I don’t know is why or who else is involved. But I intend to find out. And when I do, the story is all yours, exclusively. Just work with me on this piece now. Deal?”
The reporter bit her lower lip and contemplated. “Deal. Let’s get writing.”
David Breathwaite hated Friday afternoons. They represented the slowest time in the news making business. He knew that the best way to bury a story in the news cycle was to plant it on a Friday afternoon for release on Saturday. Conventional wisdom and detailed research showed that the general public paid less attention to the news on Saturday than on any other day of the week.
Likewise, the best way to get something out that would normally never be newsworthy was to announce it on a Friday afternoon. Since so few stories were available to cover, reporters were sure to gravitate to the story, which would likely get much wider play than it merited.
In this case, Friday afternoon was going to suit his purposes just perfectly. Breathwaite wanted Wendy Ashton’s story to get attention without being overshadowed by other big stories. He also planned to have her embargo the story for release in the Sunday papers, not Saturday’s. So, he thought smugly, I get the best of both worlds.
He picked up the phone and dialed.
“This is Wendy Ashton of the Associated Press. I’ll be with you in just a few seconds. Please be patient. As always, your call may be recorded. If you don’t mind that, please stay on the line and I’ll be right with you.”
Breathwaite listened with half an ear as he leafed through some papers on his desk.
“Ashton.”
Lynn Ames
“Hello, Wendy. Are you enjoying your Friday?”
“I was.”
Breathwaite laughed. “I’ll get right to the point, then. Do you have my story?”
“What’s my assurance that you won’t double-cross me?”
“Wendy, Wendy, Wendy. I am a man of my word. I’m hurt that you wouldn’t trust me.”
“Excuse me if I’m a little skeptical. You know all reporters are born cynics.”
“If you give me what I want, you have my promise that you can keep your dirty little secret—for now.”
“I filed the story a half hour ago, for release in the Sunday editions. It should be on the wire even as we speak.”
“Hold on a second and let me check. You’ll excuse me, after all, if I don’t take your word for it?”
>
Breathwaite swiveled in his chair and examined the AP wire as it spat out news items. He scanned the stories until he found the byline he was looking for. As he read it quickly, his eyes narrowed. He tapped his pen on his desk blotter as he considered. The story probably wasn’t enough to force Kyle out. On the other hand, it did air her personal laundry publicly. He smiled a wicked smile. For a private person like that dyke bitch, that could be rather painful. Perhaps she would decide she’d had enough and step aside on her own. While the story wasn’t everything he’d hoped for, it might have the intended result, and he could continue to hold the threat of exposure over Ashton’s head. He nodded.
“Okay, Ashton. I had hoped you would come up with something a little more explosive than this.” He could almost feel her squirm in her chair. “But I’m going to let you off the hook—for the moment.”
“Breathwaite, I don’t know what your game is, but I don’t want any part of it. I’m done, do you hear? I’ve done what you asked me to, now lay off.”
His voice exploded, echoing off the walls of his office, “You’re done when I say you are, bitch!” He straightened his tie and collected himself.
“Now be a good dyke and run along. Be grateful I’ve accepted your little offering.” He severed the connection.
On her way to a meeting with senior staff, Kate glanced down at her buzzing pager. There was a single number there: one. She breathed a sigh of relief. Wendy was telling her, through their prearranged signal, that Breathwaite had accepted the story.
The Cost of Commitment
CHAPTER FIVE
ay brushed the hair from her eyes. It had been a long day, but she Jfelt invigorated by the prospect of writing a really important story.
ACT UP was going to change the tenor of the debate on AIDS, she felt sure of it. She had spent the better part of three days with Barry Kaplan, one of the masterminds behind the group’s philosophy and strategies.
Although it was still months away, plans were underway to mark the group’s first anniversary. The event, as Barry and his crew of volunteers envisioned it, would take place where it had all started: on Wall Street, the financial capital of the world. It was there on March 24, 1987 that ACT UP had first made its presence known, protesting profiteering by drug manufacturing companies.
“People need these drugs to have any chance at survival, and the pharmaceutical companies know they have us over a barrel,” Barry said as he took Jay on a tour of the ACT UP headquarters in Manhattan.
“They can charge outrageous sums and limit availability of things like AZT to control the market. It’s shameless. We have to do something to make our voices heard.”
“Do you think you can make a difference?”
“We have to believe that we can. I’ve lost dozens of friends to this dreadful disease. I, too, will succumb someday in the not-too-distant future. We can’t roll over and apologize for who we are anymore. They throw us a few crumbs and we bow and scrape and thank them for their generosity. Where is our pride? Where is our passion?”
“A lot of people will say you get more with honey than with vinegar.
You have to work within the system to get what you want. What do you say to that?”
“I say that you have to have a seat at the table and a voice before you can have meaningful dialogue. What we are doing here is putting them Lynn Ames
on notice: we have power and we will use it in any way we have to until you treat us with respect and dignity.”
“Until you are offered a seat at the table.”
“Yes.” He hesitated, looking Jay in the eye. “Ms. Parker, we are dying by the tens—no, hundreds of thousands. We have nothing to lose.
Those who come after us have everything to gain. Desperate times breed desperate measures. We will do whatever it takes to win this war, and make no mistake about it, it is a war. It’s a war waged on a disease, and a war against ignorance on one side. It’s also a war waged on people who are different. For some, AIDS is an excuse to brazenly engage in homophobic behavior.”
“You see it as a way to justify the marginalization of gays.”
“Absolutely. It’s the old, ‘they’re getting what they deserve; it’s God’s will,’ argument. In fact, Ms. Parker, I think it rather remarkable that Time magazine is interested in us. Far more forward-thinking and progressive than I would have given you all credit for.”
Jay’s eyes twinkled. “I don’t know, Mr. Kaplan, we just might surprise you.”
“I’m sorry, sweetheart. I wish I could get home tonight, but there are fewer trains on Saturdays, and I just missed the last one. Besides, I’ve got to get this story written for Monday morning.” Jay pouted. “God, I miss you so much it hurts inside.”
“I know the feeling, baby. Fred and I miss you, too. It’s all right.
You’ll probably get more done without us around to bother you, anyway.”
“Sounds like you’re pretty busy yourself, Stretch. What’s all that noise in the background?”
“You just focus on your story, there, Scoop. Don’t worry about what I’m up to. Write fast so you can come home to us.”
“You know you just obfuscated, Stretch, right?”
“Oh, big word, there, Scoop.”
“You’re doing it again, which tells me that you’re up to something.”
“Me? Nah.”
“Argh. You’re maddening, but I’m going to let you get away with it—this time.”
“I love you, Jay.”
“I love you, too, Katherine Ann. Bye.”
Jay hung up the phone, but held the receiver against her chin a moment longer. Five days. This was the longest she had been away from Kate since they had returned together from Sedona. She sighed. “You can’t have it both ways, Parker. You’re the one who told Trish you were The Cost of Commitment
ready to get back to work in earnest. That means time away. Suck it up and get on with it.”
A knock on the door halted her monologue.
She looked at the clock. 10:35 p.m. “Who in the world?” When the knock came for the second time, she picked up the softball bat she kept near the door and moved to the peephole. How had someone gained access to the building? Putting her eye to the opening, she glanced around.
“Ah!”
She fumbled so quickly with the lock and chain that it took her three tries to get the door open. “Get in here!”
Fred barked exuberantly, throwing himself at Jay and weaving through her legs.
“Shh, buddy. The neighbors’ll kill us.” Kate’s last word was swallowed as Jay pulled her inside, crushing their lips together in a passionate kiss.
When they parted several moments later, Jay said, “This is getting to be a habit with you. You have got to stop calling me from downstairs.”
“Well, if you want us to go...” Kate made a move toward the door, but was stopped immediately by a flying Jay.
“Don’t you dare.”
Kate chuckled. “Since you’re the one with the baseball bat, I suppose I ought to do as you say.”
Jay looked down sheepishly. “Oh, that. Hey, you never know what kind of scum might come knocking at your door in the middle of the night.”
“Scum, is it? Fred, did you hear that? First she scolds us, then she calls us names. Are we gonna stand for that?”
The dog continued to dance between Jay’s legs, talking like Chewbacca, the Wookiee from Star Wars.
“Sorry, princess, looks like you’re gonna have to be indignant on your own.”
“Sure buddy, one scratch and you change allegiances. Can’t say as I blame you, though. You do have good taste.” Kate claimed Jay’s lips again, causing Jay to lose her balance as she stumbled over Fred.
They laughed at the same time, and Kate shooed her faithful companion away. “Sorry, buddy. This is my time.” Taking a step forward, she pulled Jay into her arms. “I missed you so much I couldn’t think straight, love. There I was, sitting in the house moping, and I thought, ‘What
am I doing here? It’s the weekend, I have a beeper. Let’s go!’ You don’t mind the company, do you?”
“Mind? Are you kidding? My God, Kate, I can’t stand being away from you. In fact, when you knocked I was just giving myself a pep talk Lynn Ames
to keep me from ditching the story, renting a car, and driving home tonight.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.” Jay’s voice was a husky whisper as she ran her hands up and down Kate’s sides, pausing to grasp the hem of her sweater and pull it over her head. She gasped audibly when she realized that Kate wore nothing underneath. “God, you are so very beautiful.” Cupping perfect, white breasts in her hands, she lowered her mouth to take an erect nipple between her teeth.
Kate shuddered and reached down to grasp Jay’s buttocks, bringing their bodies into contact all along their lengths. “You feel so good, love.”
“Mm. I love the way your skin tastes,” Jay murmured against the breast she was sampling.
Kate managed to insinuate her hands between them and began unzipping Jay’s jeans.
“Um, honey?”
“Yes, love?”
Jay gripped Kate’s wrist to stop her roaming hand. “Before we go any further, can we take this upstairs to the bedroom?”
“Where’s the challenge in that, baby? Besides, you’re the one who started it.” Kate maneuvered them into the living room, where the large plate-glass window overlooked the twinkling lights of the city below.
“We should enjoy the view.”
“I am enjoying the view,” Jay said as her eyes feasted on her lover’s bare upper torso.
“And I’m glad you are.” Kate’s voice lowered an octave. She took a step backward until she was just out of Jay’s reach. “Sometimes I look at you, and I can’t believe you’re mine.”
“I feel the same way.”
They stood two steps away from each other, the air around them crackling with the intensity of their emotions.
“Thank you, Jay.”
“For what?”
Kate’s eyes brimmed with tears of gratitude. “For showing me how to live. For bringing me joy and laughter. For teaching me, maybe for the first time in my life, how to give of myself without reservation or fear.”
“Do I do all that?”
