Alexandra Waring (46 page)

17 June 1988

MEMORANDUM TO: All DBS Employees
FROM: Jackson Andrew Darenbrook
REGARDING: The Boat Party

Dear Everybody,

This is a reminder that you don’t have to come but are absolutely expected to come to my boat party that is in honor of all of you.

SATURDAY, JUNE 25TH

6
PM
—?

THE 79TH STREET BOAT BASIN
HUDSON RIVER, MANHATTAN
DINNER AND DANCING

You are allowed to bring one person with you: spouse, friend, other half, better half, half and half, roommate, cellmate, whatever. Or come on your own, please. (I am.)

Please come because I’ve worked very hard to plan this. Honest. Ask Ethel, Randy and Claire—who almost quit in the process.

Jackson

32
The Boat Party

“Good Lord,” Cassy said, standing at the top of the gangplank leading down to the docks of the 79th Street boat basin.

“I don’t believe it,” Kyle said, standing beside her, blinking.

“Better get those smiles in order,” a photographer said, standing by the security guards, raising his camera to take their picture. “Mr. Darenbrook says anybody who doesn’t look happy goes overboard.”

Cassy and Kyle looked at each other.

Kyle was in a white dinner jacket; Cassy was in a floral Chanel number that she had decided she didn’t have the courage to wear and had been about to change when Kyle arrived to pick her up. She had opened the front door and Kyle had at first smiled at her, but then his eyes had dropped and come back up and then dropped again and then come back up again—having him utterly miss the time for any polite hello—his expression one of blatant awe. “Is this you?” he had finally said, eyebrows crashing together.

So she had worn the dress.

Since Kyle’s wife and children were at the McFarlands’ house in Maine for the summer (Kyle flew up on weekends) and Cassy’s husband would not be her husband for very much longer, they had decided to go to the party together. Kyle had a car waiting outside and they had driven down Riverside Drive to 79th Street, turning off for the parking lot overlooking the boat basin. They had then made their way down the footpaths and terraces to the basin, smiling and nodding to all of the people who had been—and were—staring and smiling at them in their finery.

Late June was a somewhat magical time for Riverside Park. And in the evening it was at its most beautiful, because the light was at its most beautiful. The sun was streaming down from the southwest, warming still those baby children snoozing in their strollers, the elderly gossiping along terrace benches and the young couples twisting around each other on blankets in the grass (ostensibly still seeking a tan at this hour). On the waterside promenade the light glinted off the bikes riding past, shone on the perspiration of joggers huffing by and flashed sexy over sunglasses everywhere. It was the light of summer seashore, as if this were a resort town and the summer people had just arrived: sea gulls cried overhead while ice cream vendors cried below; uniformed policemen smiled at kids who smiled at them; and people moved along, sunburned, a little loopy from the excesses of the day.

And then there was the boat basin. Half of it was residential, with barges and houseboats and shacks on floats, and the other half was regular marina, with cabin cruisers and sailboats—fiberglass and teak—and Boston Whalers and speedboats and rowboats. Every generation was represented in the maze of interlocking docking berths, with old faded cotton clothes denoting the bottom end of the class spectrum in the residential half, while old faded cotton clothes denoted the top end of the class spectrum in the other. There were loud, social people whose boats demanded attention—”Look at me, look at me” and there were quiet, languid-eyed romantics, supposedly reading, but really watching others until it was time to slip down into the holds of their sailboats to make love with the incoming tide. There were people there too who everybody wished would go away—as was always the case in New York City—but who never did go away because there was no place to go to where anyone would like them anyway and so they stayed on in New York City.

Though Cassy knew the basin had probably seen everything, she bet it had been quite some time since it had seen the likes of the huge white ship that was moored out in the river tonight. It was a beautiful old ship, something from another era, the thirties perhaps, and there were two white launches cruising back and forth from it, skippered by men in white uniforms.

“Say yes, pretty lady,” the photographer said to Cassy.

She looked at him. “Not on your life,” she said cheerfully.

He took their picture.

“Name?” one of the guards asked them.

“Cochran and McFarland,” Kyle said, peering over the guard’s arm to see the guest list. “With a C.”

Mr. Graham appeared from behind Cassy, with a very attractive woman on his arm. She was in her late sixties or so, with a stunning head of white hair, and was dressed sedately in black and pearls. He, on the other hand, was looking rather festive in a pink blazer, red pants, white shirt and pink and blue bow tie.

Introductions were made; the woman was a Miss Alice Moffat who, according to Mr. Graham, would be working with him for Alexandra, starting on Monday. While Mr. Graham and Miss Moffat had their picture taken, Kyle gave Mr. Graham’s name to the guard as part of their party.

“Cochran, McFarland and Graham plus guest, Moffat, one, one and two,” the guard said into his walkie-talkie. There was the sharp sound of static and then a voice shot back, “Cochran! McFarland! Graham plus guest, Moffat, A-okay, one-one-two all clear!”

“Right down there, ladies,” another guard said, pointing down the gangplank. “Go straight out and they’ll pick you up.”

“Are you working with Mr. Graham for the first time?” Cassy asked Alice as they walked down a ramp in front of the men, thinking that this was a pretty good question considering she still didn’t know what it was that Mr. Graham did for Alexandra.

“No,” Alice said, smiling, glancing back at Mr. Graham before looking at Cassy, “we’ve worked together before.”

“Oh, that’s nice,” Cassy said.

“I was his secretary for thirty-four years,” Alice explained.

At the end of this dock outreach they met up with guests who had come in through another gate: Chi Chi and her husband, Richie; Hex and his wife, Debbie; Kelly Harris and her boyfriend, Steve; and with great dramatic flourish, their arts and entertainment editor, Brooks Bayerson Ames and her (fourth) husband, Dickie. The launch arrived and the attendants helped them step into it; they took their seats around the sides, the rope was cast and the launch moved away from the dock.

“Hey, Cass,” Hex said, leaning to see her at the front end of the launch. “When Debbie saw you, she thought you were an actress.”

“Hex,” his wife complained, elbowing him.

“She did,” Hex said. “She said, ‘Who’s that? That’s somebody, isn’t it?’ “

“I’m going to kill him,” his wife told everybody.

Hex was laughing. “She’s never going to let me edit anything with you anymore. She thinks you’re beautiful.”

“That’s it, Hex,” his wife said, looking at the sky.

“But I told her,” Hex said,
“
’Naw, she isn’t beautiful, that’s just Cassy.’ “

Everybody laughed.

“Thank you, Debbie,” Cassy said, smiling at her. And then she settled back in her seat, looking over her shoulder at the water ahead of them.

The water was very calm this evening, the breezes light. The ship ahead was beautiful, seductive, the water lapping gently around her largesse. White lights were strung across her; they could hear the strains of orchestra music.

Cassy swallowed, eyes on the bridge. She knew that the tall figure standing there with the binoculars was Jackson; she knew his body by sight now. She had no idea what was going on between them these days, nor did she know where it was leading. She was supposed to be, if what Langley told her was true, made president of DBS by the fall, and she knew that the last thing the president of DBS should be doing was making eyes at the chairman of Darenbrook Communications. But it had been so pleasant—so
very
pleasant—these last weeks, when it seemed that, whenever she had a spare moment, there Jackson would be in her line of sight. When she was in her office, between phone calls, she’d look out and he’d be sitting out in the square, on a bench, dictating letters to Claire. Or she’d stop in the cafeteria for something to eat and the door to his office would open and out he would come. He always smiled, always waved, always stopped to talk if she indicated she had a moment.

There was a definite energy in the air between them and they were both aware of it, careful with it and clearly made happy by it. It was a delicious sensation, no doubt because it was still safe. Still innocent. It was not terribly unlike Cassy’s first flirtation in junior high school, when she had first become aware of a very appealing boy being endearingly “in like” with her.

These will be the good old days
, she thought. She’d look back on these last few weeks and think that times had never been better, had never been more fun. All there seemed to be was good news and more good news. Jessica’s ratings were up. Alexandra’s ratings were holding steady and the DBS News tour promised tremendous publicity. Ad revenues for the next quarter were high. Alexandra got an exclusive with Speaker of the House Jim Wright, when questions arose about his outside income. They had signed eleven more affiliates, bringing their total to eighty-four. (“More twinkling cities tonight,” Kyle would tell graphics over the phone. “Tonight, on the opening, we need to see Rochester, Winston-Salem, Memphis, Orlando, Corpus Christi
…
”)

Since the first day of the newscast, Alexandra had been caught up in the day-to-day newsgathering process and Cassy had seen less and less of her as her own responsibilities were taking her farther from the newsroom and Alexandra’s were taking her farther from managerial meetings. But while Cassy did miss working as closely with Alexandra as she had been on a daily basis, she was delighted to see how well Kyle was working out in her stead. Because this—what her and Alexandra’s working relationship was shaking down to—was pretty much what it would have to be if Cassy were to become president of DBS. And it seemed to be working.

It was also wonderful to see how Alexandra’s commitment to Gordon was strengthening. Prior to this, Alexandra had scarcely acknowledged at West End that she even
had
a personal life, so it was a nice surprise when she announced that she wanted to tour for DBS News in July and August, anchoring the news from different affiliate newsrooms, not only to build ratings they could take into the fall with them, but because she wanted to tour while Gordon was in England. She didn’t want Gordon to be away for two months, she said, and then have him come home when she was leaving for two months on the road. On top of that, Alexandra wanted to announce her engagement to Gordon before he left, and when Cassy asked her what she thought Jackson’s reaction would be, Cassy was surprised and delighted (no, make that unnervingly elated) when Alexandra said she had already discussed it with Jackson and he thought it was great.

“Hey, Cass,” Kyle whispered over her shoulder, “look up on the deck there. Isn’t that our pal Greg again? Lord Hargrave?”

“Oh—yes,” she said, “it is. You’re right, that’s him.” But her eyes had moved toward the front of the ship again, to the bridge, and Cassy smiled slightly, wondering if it could be herself that Jackson was watching through the binoculars.

“Creeping catfish, is she the most ever-lovin’ beautiful woman this side of the Mason-Dixon line or what?” Jackson said, looking out across the water through the binoculars.

Langley, who was on the ship-to-shore telephone, was not listening. He was shouting, “The Hudson River. Just tell him the Hudson River. Go north, Jessica, on the Hudson River and you can’t miss us.” He paused, grimacing, covering his free ear. “Everybody knows where the Hudson River is.” Pause. “Oh, christ!” he said, holding the phone back as though he were about to throw it.

“What’s the matter?” Jackson said, still following the launch with his binoculars. He was in a white dinner jacket, looking very dapper indeed, with a red carnation in his lapel.

“She’s on Staten Island with some jerk who doesn’t speak English.” Langley raised the telephone to try again. “Let me talk to Ms. Wright,” he shouted. “Will you just shut up and hand the phone to the senora, please?”

“Ask her if we should send the Coast Guard,” Jackson said, chuckling, still watching through his binoculars.

“All right, all right,” Langley was saying. “But be careful. Tell him we’ll pay him very well on this end. Right. North on the Hudson River. We’ll wait for you. Okay, bye. Phew,” he said, handing the phone to the steward who was standing by. Langley walked over to stand next to Jackson. He was in a white dinner jacket too, though his black tie was not tied very well.

“What’s up?” Jackson said, binoculars still to his eyes.

“Don’t even ask,” he groaned, leaning on the railing. “Steward,” he said over his shoulder, “can you call down for a gin and tonic, please?” He looked back at the water. “She did a publicity appearance at South Street Seaport—”

“She is unbelievable,” Jackson murmured under his breath, refocusing the binoculars. And then a second later, “So what about Jessica’s publicity appearance?”

“So she thought it would be fun to hire a boat to bring them around Manhattan to the party—they did, but Jessica says the driver’s a Brazilian drug runner or something and Denny got left at the Seaport and
I
don’t know what she was talking about!” he finished, throwing his arms in the air.

Jackson lowered his binoculars, hitting Langley on the arm. “Come on, let’s meet this launch.”

Within a half hour everyone from DBS had arrived: Kate Benedict and her boyfriend, Mark; Adele; Ethel and her husband; Randy and his wife; Claire and her boyfriend; Betty Cannondale and handsome friend; Dan Shelstein and his wife; Rookie Haskell and his girlfriend; Shelley Berns and her husband; Bozzy Gould and his girlfriend; Alicia Washington and her boyfriend; Jimmy Hallerton and his wife; Dr. Kessler and his wife; the Nerd Brigade and all kinds of attachments; Dick Gross and his wife; Helen Kai Lu and her husband; Paul Levitz and his wife; John Knox Norwood and his girlfriend; Gary Plains and his wife; Dash Tomlinson and his wife; Chester Hanacker and his daughter; Lilly Kertz and her husband; Zeph, Mel, Becky Seidelman, and on and on and on
…